Beast
by Kitty Seeboo
Summary: His parents are missing, his sister is dead, and – to top it off – Yuuma awakens to find himself the captive of a demon who suffers from split personality, a demon who claims to be his imaginary, childhood friend, Shingetsu. Foilshipping.
1. Part One

**A/N: **I must say, this was initially going to be a one-shot, but - when it reached the 17,000 word mark (still on-going, mind you), I decided that I would divide this into three parts. This was also my Valentine's Day fic that turned into a monster of a story. I'll admit, this might be but a prequel to a larger story at some point, but - for now - it's just the inception of a fun, foilshipping fic. I'll be updating every week on Wednesday.

Hope you all enjoy! And don't be scared to drop a review by. I'll tell you, I absolutely love those ^^ Toodles.

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**Beast**

**Summary: **His parents are missing, his sister is dead, and – to top it off – Yuuma awakens to find himself the captive of a demon who suffers from split personality, a demon who claims to be his imaginary, childhood friend, Shingetsu.

**Rated: **M

**Genre: **Romance/Angst (Supernatural)

**Pairing: **foilshipping (negativeshipping; positiveshipping)

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**Part One**

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"But, Nee-chan!"

"No!"

"Akari!"

"I said, 'No'!"

"You think you can stop me? Well, you can't! I'll duel if I want to duel, and there's nothing you can do about it!"

_**Slap!**_

Yuuma grunted in pain as he fell to the floor from the force of her backhand, the sudden assault triggering reflex tears. He pressed his palm against his cheek, hissing at the stinging pain, shocked that Akari would resort to such violence. His shock was replaced by humiliation when he felt those tears trail down to his fingers, his chin, dripping unto his shirt.

The boy bit his lip, scrambling away from the woman – who looked horror-stricken at her actions – as she knelt before him, attempting to touch him, apologizing ardently for hurting her baby brother. Yuuma shook his head slowly, dragging himself away until he felt the wooden base of the stair beneath his palm. Then - finally freed from his stupor - Yuuma sped up the stairs, ignoring his sister's cries for him to come back. She did not follow him, though.

Yuuma hid behind the wall instead of retreating to his room, listening as Akari screamed expletives at him, calling him a '_coward_'and a '_disrespectful, ungrateful brat_'. She never tried to ascend the stairs, though, pacing at the bottom and waiting for Yuuma to come back down instead.

Haru tried to calm her granddaughter, explaining that there was no need for her to be so angry, that she should just sit with her dear grandmother in the parlor and sip some tea to sate her agitated nerves. Akari did not seem to be interested in her offer, and it was only when Yuuma heard the front door slam shut did he scamper down the stairs, racing past his grandmother to the outdoors in time to catch his sister leaving.

"Akari! Nee-chan!"

"Go back inside, Yuuma!" she snapped. "You'll catch a cold."

Unfazed by her curt tone, he challenged, "And you won't?"

"Yuuma..."

"Please come back inside." His sister turned to face him at that pleading note, then she gingerly made her way to her little brother, hands raised as if to convey that she would not harm him. When Yuuma did not cower away from his sister, but rather squared his shoulders and looked her directly in the eye, Akari gently took hold of his shoulders, drumming her pale fingers anxiously against the tender flesh, waiting for Yuuma to move. He chanced forward barely an inch, but that was enough encouragement for the maroon-haired woman, as she immediately seized the opportunity to smother her brother with a desperate embrace.

Yuuma leaned against her, returning the hug with every ounce of ferocity that Akari poured into it, drinking in her apologies while muttering ones of his own. Ones for being rude; for being stupid; for being childish. He wanted to understand his sister's point of view. Oh, how desperately he wanted to! Dueling, however, was the one activity that made him feel close to his parents anymore, since they were no longer physically with him. He knew Akari empathized with his loss, but why she could not see how important dueling was to him was what bemused the boy.

Still, it was nice being held by his sister like this, he thought, closing his eyes as he completely submerged himself in the tender yet powerful embrace. He loved his sister, and while they had not always been on the best of terms – tonight being a prime example of that – he knew that she loved him just as fiercely.

"Hear what. Why don't you go inside and grab both our jackets? Let big sister treat her baby brother to some onigiri."

"Really?"

"Sure!" Akari leaned over and whispered, "We'll take my bike and we'll go super fast!"

"Ah! That's so cool!" '_Though, it's a little scary sometimes..._'

He dashed back inside, and kissed his grandmother farewell. Though she had her reservations of letting her young lambs stray so late into the night, the elder allowed them the leisure upon the promise that they would return before midnight. That gave them more than enough playtime.

It truly was a wonderful night. They had gotten their fill of sweets and other delicacies; they had sped down empty roads, alleyways, and even leaped from a rooftop at one point, driving at such high speeds that Yuuma feared he would have peed himself.

His knees quaked once he dismounted the motorbike, and only pride kept him from sinking to his knees and kissing the cold pitch below his feet. Their deadline was gradually drawing closer, but neither of the siblings seemed to be concerned with timing on this most joyous escapade. So they sat on a bench, huddled together and snacking of the remnants of their earlier purchases, giggling and speaking frivolously.

Young Yuuma curled further against his sister, and began twirling the Emperor's Key between his fingers. A beautiful relic; a cherished reminder of his parents. Pale hands gently joined with his own, gray eyes quietly observing her precious brother.

"I know... I know what dueling means to you. I just... I just want you to be careful, is all." He shifted his gaze from the golden object in his grip to his sister, rubies that reflected her small smile sparkling with astonishment.

"You'll let me duel?"

"Now hold on, Mister. I didn't say anything of the sort," she huffed. "There's still the matter of your poor grades, and the fact that you could never get up in time to save your life, and -"

"- Nee-chan!" Slim, pink lips parted in an exasperated sigh at her brother's whine, yet she ruffled his hair fondly, and laced her fingers through the soft strands that ran from the darkest midnight to the dawn of a pink sunrise. In that moment of peace between the perpetually squabbling siblings, all Akari could think was, this was her baby brother; the boy she had vowed to never allow any harm to come to; the boy she loved unconditionally. No argument or petty jealousy would change that.

"Tell you what, you promise me that you'll do better in school, and I'll let you duel to your heart's content. But I want to see results," she demanded. "No results, no dueling. Capisci?" That warm smile etched to his handsome if boyish features, coupled with those red eyes that glowed beneath the streetlights was a look that Akari just knew had been carved into her heart. She had never seen such a true smile from her brother since... Since that time. Even now, she thought in dismay, simply thinking of it would bring her tremendous woe.

"Capisci!" he chirped in reply, nuzzling closer to the woman, who wrapped both arms around him before planting a firm kiss upon his forehead.

"Good boy." The siblings remained locked in that embrace for a while, both silently wishing, hoping for this moment to never end, hoping that the closeness they had felt tonight – a closeness that they had not experienced in years – would remain until the day they parted.

Akari reached up to brush away the droplets of tears from her lashes, then she pushed away from Yuuma, slightly, but maintained contact by grasping at his shoulders.

"Wanna do something fun?"

"Like what?" Breathless anticipation and mirth seemed to seep from Yuuma's pores, and it was so refreshingly infectious! Granted that she had been the one to suggest the open-ended idea, it was his desire that made the woman want to follow through. Anything for her little one.

The wicked smile that appeared on her lips caught him off-guard, and before he could retaliate, merciless, piano fingers left him squirming and squealing. Yuuma gripped her wrists, tried to assault her with a barrage of tickles as well, but she was both bigger and (this last part bothered him quite a bit) stronger than him; the winner of this battle was undoubtedly decided even before it had begun.

Abruptly, she ceased the onslaught and took to her feet, yelling over her shoulder, "Catch me if you can!"

"Hey! No fair!" cried her brother, who sprinted after her. Their belongings laid forgotten on that oak bench, but it bothered neither of them. Some treats and two helmets that could be easily collected once their childish fun ended. Besides, Akari only intended for the chase to last one block, then she would scoop her little brother into her arms and carry him back to her motorcycle.

When she made a sharp turn into that alleyway, she had not intended to be met with the sight of a boy hunched protectively over a cowering child, reassuring him in hushed tones, but never removing that piercing glare from the man in the white suit that towered over him. Soldiers surrounded the man, armed and ready to fire if the blond boy were to make any move to harm their leader. Instinct gained control, and Akari shielded herself from sight, but kept discreet watch over the bizarre scene.

Telltale red painted his dirtied dress shirt, and matted his bangs, yet the boy ignored his pain in favor of comforting the whimpering boy, who was cloaked in a dark, torn trench coat. Indistinct murmurs accompanied those high-pitched mewls, which grew hysterical when one of the soldiers struck the older boy in the back of his head with the butt of his gun, yet the boy remained solely concerned with calming the little one.

"You can avoid all this pain, Kaito, if you'd only surrender." The man's voice was smooth and rich with the right touch of creepiness that made the violet-haired woman want to beat him until he was unrecognizable. "After all, your precious little brother won't survive without my help."

"Nii-san?" came his timid voice, but the boy (Kaito) only smiled and quieted him with more incoherent coos. Akari had to strain, had to really listen – even dare to edge closer to the scene – to hear the hoarse whisper of, "I'll protect you, Haruto. Believe in me." So engrossed was she in the drama unfolding before her, that she had completely forgotten she was supposed to be playing tag with Yuuma. Only when she heard his boisterous laugh, and felt those slim arms wrap around her did she gasp and silence him.

It was done too little, too late, and Akari knew that.

Yuuma pondered the consternation etched to his sister's pale face for barely a second before she was ushering him away, urging him to run as fast as he could. Always a child of impulse, Yuuma peeked into the pathway which she blocked.

His breath hitched at the abrupt press of that cold muzzle against his forehead, and he felt absolutely nauseous. The soldier gave him barely an inch of space to move away, allowing the woman to pull her dark-haired companion against her before ordering them both to stand.

"Well, well. It seems that we have some guests." The man dressed in white strolled over to the unwanted guests, casually glancing over their profiles before his eyes settled upon the elder sibling. She recognized him before he could even begin to place the familiarity of maroon hair and striking eyes. Bizarre glasses, V-shaped coattail, disconcerting smile; he was Mr. Heartland, head of the Heartland City Security.

What was he doing out here, in the middle of the night, hassling these two young men? Were the two in trouble of some sort?

"Bingo!" he declared with the snap of gloved fingers, jolting both Yuuma and his sister. "Now I recognize you two! You're Kazuma's children." His gaze settled upon Yuuma, whose immobilized form could easily rival a statue, and whispered his name. Then he turned to Akari, whom he looked much less pleased to see. "And you," he said scornfully. "You're that reporter girl." Within the depths of those hardened eyes, Akari could see that he was contemplating something, and – whatever it was – it made her hair stand on edge. Her grip on her brother instinctively tightened.

Finally, with an unapologetic sigh, he announced, "I do hate loose ends. Such a shame, too, for a pretty girl like yourself to lose her life because of the rising threat of gang violence." Gray eyes widened in horror at those words. Baffled, the young boy asked what this crazy, old man was talking about, earning an indignant squawk from Mr. Heartland, and a choked giggle from Haruto. The man muttered unintelligibly (something about Yuuma having not inherited even an ounce of courtesy from his father) before he gave his final, heart-stopping instruction.

"Kill them both."

It was five to twelve, and the two siblings should have been on their way home. They should have greeted their grandmother, who sat patiently in the parlor, knitting and humming a tune of old as she awaited the return of her babes. Then, they should have snuggled into Akari's bed together, like they had done years earlier. A perfect end to a perfect night.

Yuuma should not have been cradling his wounded sister, his body wracked with heartbreaking sobs that echoed through the dark alleyway. Red eyes could only see Akari, unaware of the gun that was aimed menacingly at his head, unable to hear Akari's weak orders for him to run. Tanned fingers should not have come away slippery and stained when they brushed just below Akari's chest. Humans were not fountains; they should not be pouring blood.

His agonized cries for his _nee-chan_ – cries that grew in volume with each passing second – shook the blond boy to the core, and Kaito made a dash for Mr. Heartland. The bitter war cry on his lips morphed into a pained gasp before he collapsed. To quench his own sadistic desires, the man in white barked orders that Kaito did not quite catch due to the ringing in his ear and the faded combination of sobs and screams. When those electrified batons rained down upon his helpless body, Kaito felt it with merciless clarity, and he could no longer identify whether the screams he had heard belonged to the nameless boy or to himself.

Yuuma begged his sister to stand up, to fight the allure of eternal sleep, even as he hopelessly watched the dying flame in her eyes.

"Get up! Get up! _Get up!_" he bawled. He kept one arm secured tightly around her limp frame, and used the other to brush the hair from her pallor face, smudging her cheeks and forehead and lips with the sickening sight of her own blood. This was not right. Where was the healthy hue and natural flush that had made his sister look so alive and beautiful? She was so young! She should not be on the brink of death!

"Please," she whispered, taking slow, ragged breaths as she forced out her dying wish against the lancing pain in her abdomen. "Live."

And then the soldier pulled the trigger.

**~ OoO ~**

"_Shingetsu?" _

"_Yeah?"_

"_We'll always be friends, right?"_

"_Of course."_

"_You promise?"_

"_I promise."_

It sure was nice to hear that gentle voice again, even if it was only a fantasy. The angelic voice of a friend he had never once seen, but had been a constant source of comfort in his young life. Sometimes it would sound distant, as if his friend was thousands of miles away, and sometimes it would be a tender whisper that was so close that he could feel that warm, phantom breath tickle his ear and make him tremble.

Shingetsu – the name that he had given to the voice of his imagination – had been with him for as long as he could remember. He would encourage him always, giving him the extra boost to Kattobingu. He had even overcome the 20 stack challenge after a quiet, "I believe in you, Yuuma-kun." Though he knew that it was simply his overactive imagination, Yuuma could still swear that he felt a pair of helping hands guide him across the top and land him safely on the other side.

As the blood poured from the agonizing wound in his shoulder, the thirteen-year-old felt faint and upset, but was soothed by the feeling of his sister's warm body so close to him. They were in bed, safe and sound at home, he thought hazily, inching a bit closer to her body, his body becoming numb to the cold concrete below, to the gusting winds around him, to the frenzied panic that overtook the tragic scene.

For a brief, peaceful moment, he was a child of five again, who had sneaked into his sister's bed after a particularly horrid visit from the Boogeyman. The tiny tears that had formed in those wide (_glazed_) eyes vanished with the carefree (_choked_) laughter of the child, who blushed and giggled at his sister's playful (_nonexistent_) teasing.

Then, he heard a voice, sobbing openly and brokenly, and he was vaguely aware of ice sliding against his pallor cheeks. Instantly, he knew the owner, but was a bit surprised at the foreign emotion. Never – from the memories of childhood he recalled – had he heard Shingetsu weep. His lamentation was so tangible that it grew a pained gurgle from Yuuma.

"Yuuma-kun... Yuuma-kun..." He repeated the boy's name as though it was his mantra of sorrow. "I'm sorry, Yuuma-kun. So sorry..." There was a light pressure upon his chest that was neither unwanted nor unbearable. It spread a warmth through his body that had been swept away by earlier winds, as well as a powerful nostalgia.

"Shingetsu," he acknowledged, "I'm so glad... to hear from you again. I've missed you." In his last moments, he was glad to hear the voice from which many pleasant memories were derived.

"Yuuma-kun, please don't give up! I promise you'll be okay." Yuuma gave an amused chuckle; this was undoubtedly his Shingetsu.

"I know you will. You've always protected me."

Shingetsu said nothing for a moment, and Yuuma began to feel the creeping fear that he had been abandoned before it was abated along with his pain. Then, he was gliding on air, the cold rush raising goosebumps all along his arms and nape. Yuuma smiled. By far, this was the most realistic dream of flight he had in his young life.

**~ OoO ~**

His bed was softer than he recalled, and pleasantly warm, considering that it had been years since he actually slept in it. Akari must have brought him home and tucked him in; must have fluffed all his pillows too, and cocooned him within the sheets. He was so snug, and he longed to bury himself further into the inviting nest, but his inner alarm was blaring, trying to warn the boy that he needed to get up for school. One bleary, red eye slowly opened, just to glimpse how much time he had left on the clock.

Yuuma shot up.

This was not his room.

His body was laid in the center of a large, canopy bed, pillows and red and white encasing his lithe frame, and a thick blanket further restricted his movements. Yuuma was able to escape their caress, and blushed when he found himself in nothing but a plush, purple robe. For the moment, he disregarded his foreign attire and shuffled over to the edge of the bed. He kept his feet tucked away beneath him, and carefully touched the frail fabric of the curtains that were bound to each of the mahogany bedposts by thin, golden cords.

The room was neither small nor large, neither plain nor luxurious. Comfortable would have been a suitable description if not for the eerie feeling that latched onto him since he accepted that he was in unknown territory. Four walls of thick concrete, bare and white, enclosed the finite area. There were no windows, no indication of the free, beautiful world that Yuuma loved so much. Nor sun nor moon gazed upon him with their ethereal light, nor wind that whispered gently to him as he lay in his hammock at night or soared with him as he raced alongside whomever his companion of the day was (whether it was Tetsuo, Kotori, or his own shadow). There were but two entryways bordered by frames of elegant designs.

Yuuma slipped off the low bed, intent on making his way to one of those exits, but hissed in frustration as a post became his bastion. His legs were too weak to support his weight, and he was forced to sit on the edge.

To his right, a tray of tempting fruit rested upon his nightstand. Succulent bunches of grapes; shiny, dark red apples; pears so juicy that it made the child salivate; and plump strawberries to complete. Though his stomach betrayed him by immediately announcing his appetite, Yuuma did not welcome the beckoning of _just a taste_. Being an active child with the metabolism of a horse did not aid his resolve.

Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he thought, '_Why the hell not?_'

He plucked a grape and placed it between his teeth before gingerly biting down. A rush of sweet, enticing juices invaded his mouth and enraptured his taste buds. Why, he must have been in heaven! Only such a place would contain fruit so utterly divine. Then he plucked another, and another, each bite earning an ecstatic moan from the boy. Soon, he became brave enough to vary his selection.

Yuuma immediately ceased his sampling when he heard the static of an awakening broadcasting system. Then a familiar voice – gentle and smooth, amplified via the unseen speakers – spoke, "Good morning, Yuuma-kun."

Reflexively, he mumbled, "Shingetsu?" but caught himself before he could repeat it. Had he gone mad? Unequivocally, he was kidnapped, then he was foolish enough to eat the food laid out for him by his captor, and now he was referring to him by the name of his imaginary, childhood friend?

"It's okay, Yuuma-kun. Don't be scared."

"Scared of who? You? Hardly!" came his harsh retort.

A chuckle, light and low and so warm that it raised little goosebumps along his arms. Yuuma swallowed thickly and rubbed at his shoulders, glaring at the wall as though he expected his kidnapper to materialize from its uniform surface. "Is that so?" He sounded faintly amused. "Well, I'm happy that's the case. I don't know what I would do if you were afraid of me." Yuuma did not want to accept the forthrightness of those words. He wanted to cling to the nibbling fear that made him quiver beneath his robe, not feel at ease with someone who could very well hurt him.

How did he even get here?

"Listen up, you coward," he growled, casting aside any notion of courtesy or amicability. "You have thirty seconds to let me go, or else..."

"... Or else what?"

"I'll beat you to a freaking pulp! That's what!" he howled, the burst of adrenaline pushing him to his feet. Then he faltered. He had been with Akari last night. For some reason, though, the details remained elusive. They had played tag, and then... Blank.

It could not be. This man...

"Where's my sister?"

"Pardon me?"

"My sister, you bastard!" Yuuma made a dash for the large door before him, working the knob relentlessly, banging and kicking at it, his feral screams drowning his captor's pleas for him to calm down. "Give her back!" he bayed. "If you so much as harm one hair on her head, I'll -"

"Oh, Yuuma-kun," he groaned mournfully across the intercom. "You don't remember, right? But that's alright, for now."

"'Don't remember'? 'Don't remember' what? Where's my sister?" The voice was quiet for a while, and – despite Yuuma constant and borderline desperate cries – it did not bend beneath the provocation. Snippets from last night began resurfacing (images of a blond boy and his sister laying limp on the pavement) and the dark-haired boy clung to them like a lifeline, wishing to make sense of this unorthodox predicament.

From within the depths of his mind, that voice – the same one that made his childhood wonderful; the same one that was currently filling him with such dread – whispered, "_**Your sister is gone, Yuuma-kun.**_" It offered no words of comfort, or anything beyond that.

Instead, Shingetsu let Yuuma wail himself into exhaustion, let him claw at the door and call him a liar, let him scream for Akari at the top of his lungs until he could stay awake no longer.

His dreams drew on memories most pleasant to alleviate his heartache, and a younger Yuuma pranced about with his sister and played games of every kind with her. When she picked him up – her fingers icy and sharp – Yuuma heard her – _felt_ her – wistful whisper of, "Good night, little brother," before she kissed his forehead and laid him down in his hammock.

Even in his dreams, he tried to cling to her, fearing that she would not return if she vanished through the attic door. Though he felt the strength of her embrace – at first, chilly, but it gradually warmed – Yuuma no longer saw her face.

**~ OoO ~**

There was nothing on this green earth that could convince Yuuma that his captor was really his imaginary friend of old. Just because the voice that spoke to him via the intercom matched the friendly chirp of his Shingetsu did not mean that they were the same person. Just because the voice could come from inside him did not mean they were connected. The psycho could have just surgically implanted some sort of weird device in his head while he was unconscious. That thought alone made him shudder.

No matter what, he just could not believe that this person was Shingetsu, no matter how much that voice pleaded for him to acknowledge him. Shingetsu would not hurt him by keeping him from his only remaining family, would not let him grieve everyday that he could not leave.

What of his grandmother? Though his memories of that night was still foggy at best, he remembered quite lucidly that both his sister and himself had been shot. So why was there no wound? Not even scar tissue was left behind! Did his captor have special healing properties? Unlikely, but not excluded as a possibility. Perhaps he had imagined being shot. Again, it was a possibility, but that excruciating pain in his shoulder had felt all too real.

_How long had he been unconscious?_

There were no mirrors in the bedroom nor the adjoining bathroom, so Yuuma could not estimate how much he had aged, and he did not have the patience to ask his captor. He simply hoped that it was only a few days at most. Even now, he could tell neither what time of day it was, nor how long he had been contained. No clocks nor windows to permit the sun's rays entrance that would even give him the smallest chance of guessing. He showered and kept himself groomed well enough, though, it had been a long time since he had eaten, and longer still since he stopped responding to 'Shingetsu'.

"Please, Yuuma-kun, talk to me," he begged, his voice choked and hoarse and so wretched that he had nearly earned a sympathetic reply from the boy. "Or eat something, please." Yuuma ignored the rumbling in his belly, his cheeks reddening at his body's own betrayal, but he was too paranoid. He had taken the the liberty of indulging in the fruit provided, and he still did not know if he would suffer negative consequences later.

"Don't be afraid of me." That certainly gained a response.

"I'm not afraid!"

"Then why won't you talk to me?" The sorrow in that voice seemed somewhat abated once he heard Yuuma speak in what felt like an eternity. "We always spoke when you were younger. We loved each other."

"What the hell are you talking about?" he huffed, growing embarrassed at his choice of words. "I've never..."

"_**'Shingetsu! Yuuma loves you!' Isn't that what you once said?**_"

"Stop it! Stop it! Get out of my head!" Tanned fingers covered his ears and ripped at his hair as he curled into himself and screwed his eyes shut. "Just shut up and leave me alone!"

Was it possible for a man that had taken him hostage while he was under duress to know him so intimately? Was it possible that...? Shingetsu was truly...?

Yuuma shook his head free of those parasitic thoughts, and steeled his resolve. He had to get home to his grandmother, and what proof was there that Akari was actually dead? A lying tongue had been the one to provide him such information. Beyond that, he had no way of knowing the truth. That was, unless he managed to escape.

Red eyes flashed across the four walls, searching corner-to-corner for even the faintest sign of wiring that connected to the invisible intercom or even a camera that recorded his every move; there was none. The room was so disgustingly innocent (save for the lack of windows that Yuuma longed for) that the boy could easily swear it was normal. There was a vague sense of recognition that sparked the boy's senses, but it disappeared as quickly as it was felt. Whoever this person was, he had prepared well for Yuuma's arrival. However, this impression – that this was 'home, sweet home' – was only angering Yuuma further.

Yuuma fell despondent once more, his slim hand clutching at his treasure, savoring the tender chill of the metal between his fingers. It was the only piece of home he had in this moment.

Then an idea struck.

No plan could be executed flawlessly. Well, at least, not all the time. Even if it did, a chain reaction would be triggered, and at least one outcome would be negative. Somewhere, somehow, this man had screwed up, or he was going to, and Yuuma could seize that opportunity to escape. Frustration became him once more, and he let out a low growl.

Yuuma was a boy of action, and never enjoyed implementing strategies, preferring to charge in blindly as it was the more fun option. It was also the reason he had never won a duel. He sulked at that thought. If he wanted even remote chances of winning this _**duel**_, he would need to think this through as best as his young mind could.

The problem was, the only answer that was surfacing was to play his captor's game; manipulate the manipulator, so to speak. Yuuma was far too furious with him to try such an approach, though. He had trapped him here, impersonated his friend, and lied to him. To top it off, Yuuma was not very good at faking emotions; he never had to. He expressed exactly the sentiments he felt. Whether it was rage or sadness or ebullience or madness, Yuuma never allowed those feelings to be bottled up, knowing that it would be toxic to his psyche in the long run.

If he suddenly began to play nice, his kidnapper would suspect his plotting, so he kept up his distrust and enmity towards the man. Since those feelings flowed so naturally through his veins, he could not help but enjoy himself, though, a small part of him would twinge with regret at the candid hurt he would hear. He actually had to remind himself some days that he was the captive, and that action alone made his stomach churn.

Naturally, he began eating a bit more. Reluctantly, at first, but he just did not want to starve to death. He also had the sinking feeling that he was going to be force-fed if he did not comply, judging by the uncharacteristically clipped tone of his captor as he ordered him to eat one day. Once he accepted that he would not be poisoned or drugged or harmed in any way, he thoroughly satisfied his hunger and quenched his thirst.

Then came the plan.

"Oi, Shingetsu," he began awkwardly one day.

"Yes, Yuuma-kun?" came that too eager reply.

"Where did you get these fruits from? They're delicious."

"They're from my garden." Yuuma could just picture him beaming with pride, and – despite the less than favorable circumstances – the image drew a genuine smile from Yuuma.

"You own a garden?"

"Absolutely! I'd... I'd love for you to see it, sometime." Yuuma could hear the unspoken plea of, _"Please don't run away," _lingering on his lips, but he purposely ignored and agreed with his captor.

Yuuma did not have many friends, but he enjoyed socializing more than anything. He was awkward at it, and tended to behave overly excitable and childish, and he said weird things, and did stupid things, but he just honestly loved being with people. Even if he was not particularly fond of his kidnapper, he was still attempting to reach out to Yuuma, give him some form of human contact even though the boy had repeatedly – though rightfully – snubbed him. This person did not seem to have any ill intent for Yuuma, but rather he was desirous of his company.

Never before had he heard such bubbly joy flow from his unseen captor as they had their first real conversation. One teasing and clumsy and endearing, as though they had been friends for ages. Though Yuuma knew that this truce would soon be broken, he appreciated the interaction anyway.

Several more of those transpired, and Yuuma had nearly lost himself to that pretense of camaraderie, longing to place a face to the person who made him laugh (artificially, at first, but it quickly morphed into true peals of mirth) and slowly took away his worries. Curse that man for his welcoming demeanor, and curse himself for being so accepting of an enemy.

"We should play a game!"

"What kind of game?"

"Hmm... Let's play, 'I spy'!" Yuuma declared with a snap of his fingers, earning an amused chuckle from Shingetsu. "I'll start. I spy with my little eye something... white."

"The wall?"

"No fair!" Yuuma whined with a pout. Then he groaned, "Playing wouldn't be much fun in here..."

"... I spy with my little eye something beautiful." His words confused Yuuma. What could be possibly beautiful about this room? Maybe if it had fruit, sure, but beyond that, it was just a plain room with a comfy bed.

"Hey, you cheater! You know I can't see what you're seeing, right?"

"I know. You don't have a mirror."

Other conversations were not as cheerful as the first few, often veering into more dangerous territories, exposing the poisonous anguish that slowly ate away at Yuuma, and chipped away at the already breakable connection between them.

"Why won't you let me see you?"

"You won't like what you see." Yuuma frowned at his response. Did this man truly peg Yuuma to be the kind of person who judged people based on their appearances? It was the deeds they did that counted, that displayed the contents of their heart and soul.

"I don't care about that. You're like a ghost, you know. When I'm showering, I come back to find food and the sheets changed and new clothes, but never you." He had found a gift with those necessities once, a tiny heart cut from a diamond, iridescent beneath the fluorescent lighting, and so utterly breathtaking that he wished to hold it up to the sunlight just so he could marvel at its rare beauty. He proudly put it on display on his nightstand.

"I apologize for my physical absence, Yuuma-kun. I did not want to offend you. I assumed that it would be for the best," Shingetsu replied.

"Well, it's not," he snapped, though, it was without malice. "I've... I've been meaning to thank you for a while. For everything. For taking care of me, talking to me." And he meant every bit of it. Though he could not forgive the man for withholding him from his family, his little slice of heaven in a world gone crazy, his efforts to help Yuuma no longer went unappreciated. He had been saved from the brink of death by this person, cared for and pampered despite the overbearing sense of oppression, not to mention his festering claustrophobia. He still wished to leave, but Yuuma knew that he would be unable to terminate this fragile friendship they had forged in the days (_weeks?_) they had spent together.

"There is no need for thanks. It is an honor to -" Yuuma had to cut in. The sincerity of those words, and the praise that he was receiving, left the young one flustered. Only when he composed himself enough, barking insults at Shingetsu's laughter at his expense, did he inquire after what he truly wished to know.

"Why did you kidnap me?" That quieted him. "And why are you pretending to be Shingetsu?"

"I'm not pretending."

"Shingetsu's -"

"_**- is this pretending, Yuuma-kun?**_" Yuuma gasped and hid himself beneath the covers, startled at the voice in his mind that he had not heard for a while.

"You see, Yuuma-kun?"

"_**We are connected.**_"

"I... I can't believe you!"

"Why?" He sounded every bit as distraught as Yuuma felt.

"Because you've taken away my life! And you're keeping me here like I'm some sort of prisoner!" Their truce had begun to crumble away, and Yuuma let himself weep openly, longing for an affectionate touch or embrace to ease his ache. "Why should I believe you?"

They did not speak for a while after that fateful exchange, and Yuuma did not try to coax him, choosing to lay in bed until he had fallen into a restless sleep.

Perhaps Shingetsu should have let him alone to slumber that night, rather than permitting himself the pleasure of cuddling with his Yuuma while he slept. He could not resist, though, wanting for so many years to reach out stroke those soft locks of black and red; to caress that sleeping face, trace every inch of it and memorize of drop of humanity it bore; to simply hold the boy close and revel in the warmth of human touch that he had missed for so many centuries. He just wanted so badly for Yuuma to accept him, to only recall how much fun they had together when he was growing up, to love him every bit as much as Shingetsu loved him.

That surely was not too much to ask, not even for a demon like himself. Then again, he could count the handful of times he had actually made a right decision on one hand. This was not one of them.

Shingetsu awakened to a sight that he had hoped to never witness; his beloved Yuuma, a wail torn from his throat and an expression of unadulterated terror that made his being sink with rejection. He tried to calm the boy, only to be struck harshly and continuously, and it made his heart break all the more. The second that his grip had been relinquished, the little boy fled.

That burst of adrenaline was what he needed to bolt through the door, that had been foolishly left unlocked, and down the ancient, stone hallways. The pathways were dimly lit by torches, and a tad cold, and every one of these dang hallways looked the same! He felt as though he was running in circles and he was just about to lose his mind.

He had to get away from here! He _needed _to escape that monster!

"Shingetsu!" he cried. "Save me! I... I don't want to – Akari! Shingetsu! Ah!" He tripped and landed painfully on the concrete, hissing in pain as he grated his knees and forearms upon impact. Yuuma laid there for some time, murmuring for someone to come help him, that he was scared. He clutched at the golden key around his neck and brought it to his lips as he curled into a ball. He felt like a child again, a child who had once feared the dark, and the Boogeyman who reined the shadows.

He had come to a crossroads, and he only had seconds – if he was even that lucky – to choose a path. He could choose to grovel and mewl and wait for the demon to come and claim him, or he could choose to never surrender and fight his way through this whole mess. He had to believe in the power of his Kattobingu. That was the driving force behind his entire life. If that did not work...

Making his decision, Yuuma ignored the burns of the dozens of scrapes he had suffered from the fall, and made a mad dash. He was going to live! He could feel it in his soul. He was going to find a way out of this dungeon and back to his family.

Daylight hit him as he burst through thick, purple draperies, and Yuuma drank in that fresh air like it was a fine wine. He shied away from the vibrant rays at first, overwhelmed by the light that he had craved to see for so long. It was so beautiful that it brought tears to those red orbs, and Yuuma let himself sink to his knees and just sob brokenly. He clutched at the balusters, and – though his vision was blurred by his tears – Yuuma absorbed every inch of his surroundings, every inch that he had once taken for granted.

The world was so vast and colorful and wonderful. From the thick forests and lush plains that stretched across the land, to the shimmering ocean that invited Yuuma for a swim; from the distant sound of waves crashing upon the sandy shores, to the rustle of the wind against the leaves; from the merry song of birds that fluttered overhead, to his own quiet sniffles. It was pure sensory overload for the boy, yet it left him craving even more stimulation. Anything, anything to remind him that his world was no longer limited to white walls and one voice...

The clawed hand that seized his shoulder made his breath hitch and reminded him that he had prematurely begun his celebration. He should have jumped, for even if he was to be impaled by the jagged rocks below, at least he would not have been forced back into that room.

"Enjoying the view, Yuuma-kun." The voice that whispered in his ear was similar to that of Shingetsu's, but there was a dangerous edge to it that sent shivers up his spine, yet he still remained frozen. "Take it all in now, because this is the last time you'll be seeing it." Something snapped inside of him at those words, and Yuuma fought frantically against the demon's powerful hold, clinging to whatever he could. He could not, he just could not be trapped again! Not when the sweet taste of freedom was just on the tip of his tongue.

Yuuma flailed and kicked and begged, "Please! No, please! Don't do this to me!" but the demon did not listen. In fact, he cackled maniacally at the boy's agony, actually encouraging the sounds rather than trying to reassure him.

"Hopelessness looks good on you, Yuuma," he purred. Then he twisted the boy's ankle.

The white light of the sun was the last thing Yuuma saw before he blacked out.

* * *

**©Kitty Seeboo**


	2. Part Two

**A/N: **Part 2 of 3 is up! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, faved, and subscribed! I just love your enthusiasm, and I know I've kept you waiting long enough! So, enjoy! R&R please!

**Update: ****Apparently this SOPA comeback scare was but a scam. Nothing to fear, folks!**

**Part Two**

* * *

Fear had been replaced by fury and loathing both for himself and that beast once he had awakened. Yuuma jerked forward, but found his wrists secured to the bedposts by silk bindings. Only one of his feet was bound to the foot of the bed, while the other was bandaged. The degree of pain was no longer nearly as excruciating as it had been earlier, but there was a pulsing that occurred each time Yuuma tried to move the foot that let him know it was still injured. The brush burns, however, had completely vanished.

Tanned cheeks reddened when they caught sight of the frail, satin robe that left little to the imagination, and left him longing for warmer temperatures.

Foregoing his struggles, Yuuma huffed and sunk into the crisp sheets that reflected his own body heat. It was bizarre to him, that this finite area that once bloomed with inviting warmth could change so drastically, becoming a place that both repelled and ensnared him. Even when he had first come to so long ago in this very room, he had never once felt the suffocating sensation of being buried alive.

Terror flashed briefly in those ruby red eyes when he heard the door creak open. Then he shut them, taking deep breaths to calm himself, not daring to spare even a glance at that monster until he was as certain as he could be that he would not scream.

When he finally mustered up the courage to inch them open, he nearly did scream at the close proximity of violet orbs that glittered like a snake's.

"Your foot's not broken," was the first sentence it could utter. How could it speak without a mouth? The beast granted Yuuma some semblance of personal space when he moved away from his face, almost disappointed that the boy had shown no fright, and Yuuma released the breath he had involuntarily held. "But I can assure you that you will not be able to walk for quite some time. Don't want you running away from me again." It finished with a growl so guttural, so savage, that it raised the fine hairs of Yuuma's arms and nape.

The dark-haired boy quietly traced the beast, its body bore a distinct, humanoid shape that had been mutated into something alien. A lean and clearly powerful body dyed gray and black with red, radiant crystals adorning its rubbery skin; large, black wings sprouted from his back and carried the red gems along their width; a dark structure encircled the gems that lined his abdomen, constructing a makeshift belt that was attached to a dark gray sarong.

Yuuma's attention was caught between a childish admiration for the creature's wings, and a budding curiosity about the golden emblem that encased the jewel at the center of its chest. Quite frankly, it reminded Yuuma of the Emperor's Key.

A sharp gasp escaped those lips when he felt those claws trail down his bare calves and to his feet, causing the young one to jolt in surprise. The only person who had ever touched his feet was his mother, who had the tendency to rub them with lotion every night to put Yuuma to sleep. They tapped his ankle and tickled the arch and flicked at his toes, causing the boy to squirm and grunt at the ticklish sensation those touches produced. Yuuma tugged at his restraints in an effort to loosen them, only to have them tighten further.

Just what kind of black magic was this?!

A soft chuckle that boded nothing good for Yuuma lit him with short-lived panic before uncontrollable laughter filled the room. The boy fought desperately to escape the assault on his feet, writhing and wriggling, ignoring the twinges in his ankle as he battled against both his restraints and his captor. The only telltale sign that the beast was enjoying the situation was the slightest crinkle of mischievous eyes. Compared to the volume of his own laughing, it was difficult to determine if much gruffer vocals were interspersed.

Finally, when he could no longer handle it, Yuuma snapped and hollered, "Please stop!" He had not expected for the creature to listen.

It switched sides while waiting for Yuuma to catch his breath, inspecting the injured ankle to insure that no further damage had been doing during that impromptu shenanigan. Satisfied, it placed its hands on its hips and asked, "You know me as Shingetsu, yeah?" Yuuma froze. _This _was him? His captor? _This _was Shingetsu?

Before Yuuma could question him, Shingetsu spun around – his wings creating a slight draft that made the dark-haired teenager tremble – and bellowed, "Jyan jyan! I am Vector now!" He straightened and saluted the bound boy. "Pleased to meet you."

The boy turned away when those claws touched his face, the lowest whimper escaping his lips. "Don't be afraid of me, Yuuma-kun." The voice lost some of its rough edges, and definitely began leaning towards the friendly familiarity of Shingetsu's before Vector's ultimately pervaded. "I won't hurt you. Much."

"For the last time, I'm not afraid..." he trailed off, his mind registering that monosyllable addition. _Much_? Shingetsu had never once indicated that he would hurt Yuuma in any way, not even jokingly. The gentle voice that lulled him to sleep when he was younger, encouraged him when he was down, and laughed with him when he was merry, matched not even the slightest with this beast before him. How dare he refer to himself as Shingetsu?! Even if it was passively, he had no right to use that name!

In a split second, Vector was looming threateningly over him, his aura rapidly tainting with a sinister darkness that exposed his core to a frigid fear. His pupils dilated and his breath hitched and he broke into a cold sweat; physiological responses to the fright Vector imposed.

"You are lying," he stated bluntly. "Not that it matters, but you're still lying. You've always been afraid, dubious. You knew my voice the moment I spoke to you, the moment I held you in my arms -" Yuuma winced at the force of the grip upon his chin "- and you believed in me."

"You're not real!"

"Yet, here I am, standing before you, and still you don't believe. So caught you are in this illusion of your 'imaginary friend', Shingetsu," he snarled. "If you believe that I'm 'not real', then why didn't you die with your sister?" He squeezed his shoulder for emphasis, and dodged the kick Yuuma fired at him mere milliseconds later.

"Shut up! Shut up! _Shut up_!" Vector was taken aback at the ferocity of his denial. "Stop saying she's dead! She can't be! She promised! She promised she wouldn't leave me alone!" His voice cracked and his frame trembled and his vision blurred as heartbreak overwhelmed him. Yuuma choked back sobs and hid his face from those demonic eyes, unwilling to show this degree of vulnerability yet unable to contain it. "Stop lying to me." His voice shuddered and broke under the siege of emotions, but Vector still heard the firm resolution in his tone, and softened only slightly.

"I'm not the one who has been lying to you, Yuuma." Vector offered him no comfort. The beast even had the audacity to laugh at his misery, quiet slips that resounded brutally in the enclosed space.

Yuuma fought against his binds, blinding rage and humiliation overtaking him as he swore colorfully at his captor. Phrases like, "Motherfucking-tuna-cunt-face with a side of fuck fries!" and "Bat whore from hell!" were spat, but they only served to make Vector laugh heartily. How dare he? How dare he mock Akari?! How dare he take his sorrow so lightly?!

Proudly, he said," Attaboy, Yuuma! That's the spirit!"

"You're a monster! An ugly, stupid monster!" he howled, the pent up frustration and rage finally reaching that precarious pinnacle. He would do anything, say anything to make that monster hurt. When that obnoxious laughter ceased, Yuuma knew that he struck a nerve, but it did not make him feel any better. If anything, Yuuma felt worse, and he did not like that one bit. Still, he could not stop the words that came flowing out when that dam broke. "I'd never believe you were Shingetsu. Not in a million years! He's far too kind to look like you, you beast."

Vector's claw dug into his chin beneath the force of that painful hold, and he twisted his head to the side. That inhuman face promised tortures unimaginable, chest heaving, eyes feral, but Yuuma was far from refuting his claims. He would not allow this creature to intimidate him into servility. Not through lies, not through captivity, and certainly not through pain. If Vector thought he could insult his family and get away scotch free, then he had another thing coming.

His grip became so tender so abruptly that it caught Yuuma off-guard. Those steel eyes softened and his breath evened, and Vector stroked the tanned flesh of his cheeks. Though his eyes were focused on the child beneath him, there was a distance in them, as if he was recalling a fond memory, grasping at a fleeting nostalgia that claimed his shriveled heart.

Deliberately, he pressed his warm centerpiece unto Yuuma's body, bringing it into direct contact with the golden key. Suddenly, it was no longer simply a voice that filled Yuuma's mind, but a variety of images – scenes, rather – ranging from the distant past to modern times, and a whirlwind of emotions that left the boy gasping. Everything that Vector had ever known, ever experienced, ever felt, became Yuuma's, and Yuuma became his, unwittingly so, but still his. Even if only for the moment.

A budding affection, to determined love, to crushing betrayal, to ungodly madness, to psychotic ecstasy, each and everyone became his, and it left him reeling at their strength, at the way in which they transitioned so seamlessly, reacting to each and every memory Yuuma had been able to glimpse. Though some were too frivolous to be seen clearly, or zoomed by too quickly to capture, the ones he was permitted to keep struck a powerful chord with him.

The little boy who played and got hurt. The little boy who had not many friends, but was so undeniably, so _foolishly friendly. The little boy whose name he had learned as Yuuma Tsukumo. _

_What a pretty name. What a pretty boy, with pretty eyes! I want to play with him too!_

_That's it, Yuuma-kun! You can make the jump! I know you can!_

_I believe in you, Yuuma-kun._

_Don't forget about your face-down card, Yuuma-kun._

_I'll always protect you, Yuuma-kun._

_You're my little treasure._

_Yuuma-kun! Are you okay?_

_I'm so happy that you can hear me. I'm so happy you're not afraid of me. I'm so happy that you want to be with me. It's been so long, since I've..._

Memories interspersed with Shingetsu's every thought and feeling. The bubbly exuberance he felt at Yuuma's acceptance that fluctuated but never faded so long as his little friend gave him the time of day; the longing when Yuuma no longer responded, as if the mental channel they shared was blocked by an outside interference; the cold fear when he saw blood, so much blood, _Yuuma-kun's blood. _

_I... I have to help Yuuma-kun! Don't die! Please!_

That was when the tears came. Yuuma felt the idyllic haze of childhood drift away, replaced by the sight of glassy, violet orbs. No malice occupied them, but Yuuma would have much preferred punishment to the broken will he found within. Yuuma could not be sure if he whispered for Shingetsu or Vector, but – whatever he said – drove the beast from his personal space.

Then, without a word, Vector fled altogether.

**~ OoO ~**

He was starving. Yuuma could not gauge how much time had elapsed, but it certainly must have been at least a day since he had last eaten. Every now and then, Vector would return with cool water that flowed past parched lips to quench his thirst. The boy graciously accepted each drop, since Vector would blatantly ignore his hunger. This denial must have been his punishment for spitting such cruel words at the one who presumably... No, the one _**who **_saved his life. Though he was suffering, Yuuma knew that he would not let him die, not when he had done all he could to save him. Hunger pains did not heed the sentiment, though.

Vector left him defenseless and frail, snatching the opportunity to do with him as he pleased, but never once did he venture into vulgar territory. His sense of personal space left much to be desired, as Yuuma would constantly catch him staring unabashed at his form, but never had the vigor to chase him off. Perhaps that was what he had hoped for when weakening the boy.

The day did come, when Yuuma awakened to the mouth-watering sight of onigiri, and he pounced without hesitation, greedily devouring every morsel until nothing was left of the dish. Even then, he licked at his fingers, simultaneously savoring the meal and craving more. He jolted at the boom of Vector's mad cackle.

"You were really hungry, neh? Sometimes I forget that you humans need food." Red eyes narrowed at this statement, prompting Vector to raise his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry. 'Ugly, stupid monster', remember? I couldn't possibly relate to your human issues." As quickly as he felt his anger stir, it dwindled, giving way to a gnawing guilt. Ridiculing his physical attributes was a low blow.

Could he say, "Sorry", though? Especially when this beast had stripped him of his freedom and found merriment in his anguish?

No, he could not. Even if this was Shingetsu, he could not say that he was sorry for fighting.

Words were weapons too, and though his choice was superficial at best, they had harpooned his ego, his soul. Pierced him like a bullet.

Honestly, he chuckled, it was like he was trying to convince himself that he was in the right.

"I bet you're still hungry! It's been a few days since you've last eaten," Vector continued, as though he had expected silence on the boy's part. There was a notable absence of sheepishness for his mistake, which made Yuuma question whether he had _**forgotten**_ as he had claimed to.

"How long have I been here?" Yuuma asked before Vector could disappear once more.

"What do I look like? A clock?" Sassy, as usual.

"I just assumed... Never mind." Vector lingered in the doorway for a moment, his wings folding and unfolding rhythmically until he finally walked through.

Then, before he shut the door, in a voice as quiet as a zephyr, he said, "Three months... And a week."

When he returned with another tray of his favorites, Yuuma questioned, "How did you know I liked these?"

"You told me, remember? Or, you told Shingetsu, when you were younger." That was one of the memories he had bore witness to when Vector's memories intertwined with his own.

"How are you real? Why didn't you show me yourself back then?" The inquisitions came unhindered and unwanted, and Yuuma could not hide the quiver in his voice, or the trembling of his lips.

"Did you not see your own reaction? You'd have rejected me." It pained Yuuma to hear such certainty in his tone.

"I would not have! You're my friend!"

"You wouldn't believe a word I said!" He stalked over to the boy, eyes set in a vicious glare, wings flared to full breadth, and a throaty growl took the place of civilized speech and mannerisms; a predator, he became, in the truest sense. Yuuma remained steadfast despite the attempt at intimidation, and even risked leaning closer to the creature. "Your Shingetsu was human in your mind."

"You're wrong."

"Don't play with me!" He lunged and the boy shrieked, trying to escape his hold while chanting how wrong he was. Vector pinned him to the mattress, straddling his hips and securing his wrists in a vise-like grip. Though it was his body weighing down upon the boy, when they locked eyes, Vector was the one who found himself breathless and still. Within those cerise depths laid a sincerity so absolute, so startling, so mesmerizing, so -

'_So beautiful..._'

- so beyond the years of this _**infant**_.

"I... I thought you were a hummingbird." Vector nearly fell off the bed. Of all the creatures in this world!

"A hummingbird," he deadpanned. "Why?" Yuuma lips quirked into a smile at his huff and his inflated features. Vector was pouting, and it was both adorably childish and hilarious.

"Because... Because whenever we spoke, I used to – I don't know. It was like I could _feel_ you flitting around, always coming near and then going far away so I couldn't reach you. I used to think that my friend can fly." He gestured at his wings. "I'm glad to see I was right."

"I'm no hummingbird!" he insisted.

"Maybe you're not colorful," he clarified, "but you've always been energetic like one."

"If I'm a hummingbird, then you're one too! You're _way _more energetic than I am!"

"Then we can be, _The Hummingbird Duo_!"

"'The Hummingbird Duo'?" he sputtered, staring wide-eyed at the child before him for a moment before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous! Utterly Yuuma! Vector could recount only a handful of times that he had laughed so heartily and loudly, and the majority of times were because of Yuuma.

There was time, though, long ago, that he laughed so freely, with a boy whose hair matched Vector's eyes, and whose eyes reflected the endless oceans.

When he finally came down from the highs of ecstasy, Vector relinquished his hold on Yuuma's wrist, and crept down his body so as to lay his head upon the boy's lap. A ripple of pleasure traveled through him when he felt those thin fingers tentatively lace themselves in his gray hair, and he felt his skin heat. How he had longed for Yuuma to return his embrace. He basked in the wonderful heat that the boy radiated, daring to slide his hands along the cool fabric of his robe until he reached its end.

Vector hastily reassured Yuuma when he felt him flinch before gingerly touching his exposed calves. The dark flesh beautifully juxtaposed the shiny cream of his apparel, enchanting the hovering entity. Then he made his way down to his feet, and removed the shackle still strapped to his uninjured ankle before chucking it against the wall. Then he settled between his legs and turned his attention to unwrapping his bandages.

"You promise you won't run?" he asked, praying for nothing but assurance.

"I won't run."

Yuuma gasped and whimpered at the feeling of... of _**energy **_seeping into his pores, and he writhed against that strong grip, his pupils dilating at the foreign sensation. It was so thick, yet flowed through him as effortlessly as his own blood. Ticklish, too. So much so that Vector had to press his free foot to the mattress to keep it from interfering. Having to suffer through that itch was quite uncomfortable, and he was grateful when it soon passed and was replaced by a healing heat that transformed into a refreshing chill.

"Wha... What are y-you doing?" There was a breathy quality to his voice that made the alien energy spike in response. "Ah!"

"Did I hurt you?"

"No... But that was -"

"- how I healed your bullet wound," he explained, withdrawing his energies and focusing on massaging the limp appendage.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

Vector shrugged. "It was something I could always do." Yuuma tensed and snorted when those rough fingers began working their way between his toes, jolting when he felt those sly fingers deliberately wiggle.

"Jerk," he huffed in feigned annoyance, but that too was driven away at the dexterity of those hands; squeezing his toes and gently kneading his arch and applying slightly more pressure when addressing the heel and the ball of his foot, and though sometimes those claws would scratch him and draw a hiss from his lips, Yuuma thoroughly enjoyed the treatment. It made him so very drowsy.

'_I'll shut my eyes. Just... Just for a min..._'

All he did was blink, and everything changed. No longer did he feel the presence of his winged companion, nor did he feel those nimble, claws upon his feet, nor did he feel the restraints secured around him that he had grown used to awakening to. It was like the first time he had awakened here all over again. A blanket cocooning him, his safety net; a nest of pillows, his luxury.

Yuuma crept to the edge of the bed and lowered his feet to the ground. He skipped around the room, shouting in triumphant glee upon realizing that he could walk once again. A sudden spring landed him on the bed and left him in a giggling heap. Strong legs kicked playfully at the pillows, latching unto them and swinging at nothing until his rush had finally worn down. The youth's body remained splayed across the cool linen until he felt nature's calling. Then he made a hasty beeline for the bathroom.

What a fright it was to be met with the face of an unfamiliar captive with striking red eyes and tousled dark hair with red bangs, and it drew a startled bark. Why would Shingetsu have someone else here as well? Then it struck him.

_This_ was him.

Shingetsu must have installed a mirror in his little bathroom while he had been incapacitated. So foreign it was to behold his reflection, disheveled as it was. To see the curve of his plump lips (and feel the urge to moisten them upon seeing them so chapped), to trace his thinned cheeks still flushed from his earlier exertion, to marvel at his still toned body (and visibly taller stature) because – hey, he was Yuuma Tsukumo – inactivity just was not his thing. He looked like the bouncy boy with chubby cheeks who dueled everyone, recognizable beyond a doubt.

Those cheeks heated terribly once he really saw his attire. He was aware of this ridiculous strip of cloth covering him, but watching himself gave him an entirely new perspective. Creamy and opaque and glistening beneath the artificial lighting, covering just enough skin to allow him some illusion of privacy, but frail enough to be torn away when it obstructed the view.

"You've grown nicely." He whipped around, eyes trained to the winged creature that leaned casually against the frame.

"Shingetsu."

"Vector. I thought you'd like to see what I have. Remarkable, wouldn't you agree?" At a loss for words, Yuuma bowed his head and leaned back against the sink and wrung his hands. Gray hands placed themselves on either side of him before he whispered, "It's been a while since you've had a shower."

"You saying I smell?" he teased.

"And here I thought you were stupid."

"Hey! That's mean!"

"What ever made you think I was nice?" he chortled. Those leathery fingers released their hold on the cold ceramic in favor of caressing Yuuma's hips; an action that made the boy jump. Vector hushed him, though, with a firm, "Be quiet," before tugging at the sash. Yuuma fought him, slapping his hands away and chiding him for his lack of respect for Yuuma's privacy.

"What do you think you're doing? Stop that!"

"But, Yuuma-kun!" he whined. "I want to see you naked!"

"You embarrassment! I'll beat you to a pulp!" he shrieked in mortification, pulling the robe closer to his slim frame.

It took a while to convince Yuuma to disrobe, especially since Vector seemed adamant in his decision to not be apart from the boy. Even after all this time, it still felt odd for someone to want to be so unnecessarily close to him. Yuuma firmly chastised him whenever he tried to sneak a peak, but that would only encourage him to try harder and laugh loudly at each failed attempt.

At one point, a tug-of-war with the shower curtain ensued. Then there was the issue of no towels being available. Yuuma concealed his privates the best he could, blushing furiously beneath Vector's shameless watch.

"Bastard," he muttered, pulling the damp sheets right up to his chin, but cracked a small smile at Vector's guffawing.

"It's your own fault for looking the way you do," came a reply littered with sporadic giggles.

"Whatever. Just get me something to wear, you hummingbird." A squawk of indignation.

"Sure thing, Horsey." An outraged cry.

Maybe it was the confirmation that this being was indeed his Shingetsu that allowed Yuuma to acclimatize faster to the environment. Maybe it had spurred a willingness to remain with the person who he had considered a kidnapper for so long. (Then again, it could have been Stockholm syndrome setting it as well.) Their mending bond did not stop Yuuma from trying the main door to see if it was locked every now and then, though. He truly did want to return to the outside. This time, however, he had every intention of seeing Shingetsu's garden. Plus, he did not like Vector being out of his sight for long periods of time. It always gave him the nagging suspicion that he was plotting something vile.

To his surprise, he did find that door unlocked at long last, and he highly doubted that it had been accidental on Vector's part. It took him a while before he ventured out into the hallway, wiggling his toes when they made contact with the frigid cobblestone. Yuuma had barely been out there for a minute before he was met with a sight so repugnant that he almost scampered back into the room. Almost meaning that Vector firmly latched on to his garb and pulled him back.

"Don't be so stubborn, Yuuma! You'll love it!"

"You will never get me to wear that! You hear me? Ever!"

Clutched in his other hand was a skimpy maid's outfit, complete with a matching headpiece and fishnets. Black and white and frilly and girly and sexy... Sexy once he was _**not **_the one wearing it! No matter how persistent he was, stating and restating himself, nothing seemed to penetrate Vector's thick skull.

"You're going to earn your keep around here."

"I didn't even want to be here!"

"So you'll be helping me clean," he finished as though Yuuma had never interrupted. His jaw went slack, and he was not sure that it would ever close again. If he had been mortified before...

"Don't do this," he groaned, shaking his head in denial. There was no way he would... There was just no way!

"Either you do it, or I'll do it for you." If there was one thing he could count on Vector to do, it would be to make good on his threats. Though the pervert became the recipient of a grand punch to the face, it had been worth it to see the boy dressed in that outfit. All he was missing was a pair of black stilettos!

"I'll never forgive you," he hissed, cheeks as red as a tomato, and he vehemently refused to make eye-contact with Vector. He expected to be met with taunts rather than a suggestive adoration that left him stupefied. Vector was undoubtedly doing this to humiliate him, but he also seemed to wholeheartedly believe that his costume choice had been an appropriate one for Yuuma.

The bodice as black as sin conformed to his frame, accentuating the slight dips of his waist; the short sleeves were scrunched along his biceps, exposing his smooth, caramel shoulders; the attached skirt fanned out around him, but possessed barely enough length to cover his nether regions, leaving Yuuma constantly tugging downward at the pleats; and the snow white frills contrasted with the black, lacing the hem and sleeves and flaring into ruffles that bled into darkness, adding the perfect touch of innocence and effeminacy to this naughty costume.

The boy looked damn fine. Strong and lean and wholly appealing to Vector's passion.

All this commotion just to clean his room, Yuuma thought in dismay, and there really was no point to it, since Vector always kept its maintenance up-to-date. He was obviously just giving the lad busy work, and it did not help that Vector kept trying to get him to bend over, or stretch, guffawing at the boy's misery and chagrin and righteous indignation.

"Oh baby! Looking good there!" was but one of his embarrassing catcalls that Yuuma swore he had rehearsed solely for this. A swipe to the face let the winged beast know that touching was out of the equation. He could still try, though. "Come on, baby! Don't be that way." A feather duster struck the clawed hand that laid upon his shoulder.

"Keep your hands to yourself, bastard." The silly boy kept forgetting that Vector was not a person who heeded personal boundaries. A gust of wind that had him clutching hurriedly at his skirt to keep some semblance of privacy reminded him of that.

Red eyes were almost aglow with the fury the coursed through his veins, and the culprit had the decency to take a step back when he hissed, "You bastard."

"Now, Yuuma-chan, let's not be rash..."

"I'll kill you!" The demon dodged the headpiece that was flung at him, but could not avoid being knocked in the skull with the handle of the duster. At first, Yuuma reeked of a murderous aura as he chased Vector, who flitted around the small room, always careful to avoid being cornered. It took a while for scornful expletives to morph into playful jeering, the atmosphere lightning as the dangerous pursuit became a fun game of tag.

"Gotcha!" Yuuma announced, slapping at his wing. Instead of commanding that Vector chase him in return, Yuuma found himself entranced by the even texture. In all the time they had spent together, Yuuma had not once felt those wings, and they were nothing like what he expected. Not at all rigid and lumpy, but pliable and... inviting. Nimble fingers traced each curve of the twitching appendages, from the join of his back, to the blunt tips, taking his sweet time, savoring each quiet gasp. There was no exchange between, no inquiries, no distancing, just tender, innocent touches that never escalated beyond that.

He would not dare ask Yuuma to stop, fearful that the boy would listen. No one had ever been so bold as Yuuma, since there was no one other than Yuuma. Not even Vector had cared to touch those abominations. There had been an age where he had desperately tried to rip them from his body, ignoring the agony it brought, as though he was trying to tear his own arms off. They were a part of him, these disgusting things, and that only made him more desperate. Of course, the universe had always been against any want of his; not even the sharpest blade could nick it. His failure left him jaded for a long time...

Here Yuuma was, though, touching them like they were exotic, like they were to be treasured. Vector was tempted to pull away when he remembered how much the boy had derided him, how he had rejected him, yet he found that he could not.

How long he had craved the lingering touches of another being. To feel desired, to know that he belonged in their company. While he detested the sappiness of those wants, he could not deny the contentment he felt at the inception of this fulfillment. Heightened sensitivity from touch deprivation only enhanced the experience, and he felt that he would collapse, would melt into nothingness if he allowed this bonding to persist.

It just felt too _**good**_. It brought him to his knees, and still Yuuma did not cease. He shuddered and gasped and made low sounds of approval. This boy was trying his patience; it took every ounce of his willpower to keep those anxious fingers from descending upon that creamy flesh.

Once his curiosity was sated, Yuuma sat on the bed, Vector facing him and joining him immediately after.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, his wings still twitching from the stimulation.

"I just... They felt different than I thought they would."

"Different how?"

"Different... nice. It was nice." He paused for a moment, gnawing at his bottom lip before an impatient grunt for him to just spit it out had him asking, "Where are my old clothes?"

"Old clothes? Oh! Those were clothes? Ha ha! I thought they were dish rags. Your sense of fashion is lacking."

"Like you're one to talk! You're always wearing the same thing!"

"I have a very particular way of dressing," he countered. "Just be lucky that I'm a very handy tailor, or else you'd have nothing to wear."

"Yeah, well... Wait, what? You -" Yuuma gestured at his outfit "- made this?"

"How else would I get it? Or any of your cute robes?" A dust of pink graced his cheeks, and red eyes dropped to the sheets.

"Oh... Um, thank you." A dismissive wave was his only response, but Yuuma insisted, "No, thank you. You could have just..." The color on his cheeks deepened, earning a hearty laugh from Vector, which in turn caused Yuuma to scold him. "Jerk, I take it back! You're not nice at all!"

"I never said I was! You're thinking of Shingetsu," he corrected. "I'll tell ya, he did not like this -" he tugged at the hem, only to have Yuuma swat him away "- one bit."

"Neither do I."

"But you do look good."

"You self-righteous ass, that's not the point."

"So you do agree with me!"

"That's not the point!"

They bickered without venom for a time, then Yuuma laid down, cautious of Vector's stray eyes, but was shocked when he laid beside him instead, claws brushing his bangs, lightly scraping against his forehead. Unsure, he met the hand with feathery touches of his own, and Vector sighed, amethyst eyes sliding shut.

"Yuuma-kun." A voice as sweet as honey, as soft as a cloud, as familiar as his own name.

"Shin... Shingetsu?"

"... Yes." Neither could escape the needy embrace that followed, and neither had any desire to do so. One had wanted this for eons, the other, since the moment this faceless voice first captivated him.

It was so different to feel Yuuma actively participating in this moment, rather than just hesitantly tracing his lovely face while he slumbered. Hands mimicked Shingetsu's actions; ghosting over the rubbery, even skin; skimming the near featureless face, careful when outlining his large eyes; raking through the bulbous, gray hair; settling on those intriguing wings. So simple yet so intense, and always satisfying. Even more so with Yuuma's more avid reactions to the sensual attention he had received. The human's body was far more delicate than his own, could feel more strongly than he could. The healing energies that subconsciously coated Shingetsu's palms as he rubbed Yuuma and seeped into Yuuma's body only intensified the sensations.

"Wait." At that command, Shingetsu instantly withdrew, carefully cradling the young boy's head, but dared no further. "I..."

"Don't worry, Yuuma-kun. Just being close to you is enough for me."

"Sorry, I'm just nervous."

"Understandably. I was being too forward."

"No, you weren't," Yuuma argued. "We've never hugged or done anything like normal friends until now. So... You're only -"

"- 'only' nothing." The naivety of this boy was as endearing as it was frustrating. "Yuuma-kun, I like you."

"I like you too." Shingetsu shook his head.

"No, I like you, and I want to be with you in more than a friendly manner." His cheeks and ears heated at such a want, and Yuuma's eyes flickered elsewhere as he fought to compose himself. Such a want was neither abrupt nor implausible, given that Shingetsu seemed to have longed for this intimacy for a long time. To always be denied even the simplest of contact... Yuuma would have rather died than endured such loneliness.

Violet eyes flickered over to the adjacent nightstand, proud to see that the present he had left for Yuuma had not been cast aside. He leaned slightly over the boy and gently plucked the diamond from its perch, handling with care between his thumb and index.

"I've been alone for a very long time," he began, his voice taking a somber note. "I'd tried to reach out to people, in the beginning, thinking that, if they knew me, they would not care how I looked. How wrong I was. To them, I was just this grotesque monster, something to either flee from, or attack. Weapons could never maim me, though, but the words hurt more than death ever could. I'd looked like this for so long that... That even I believe what they said was true. That I was something unworthy of love or life.

"I got rid of all the mirrors in my castle, and secluded myself. Because who could ever love a beast?" Tiny, sparkling diamonds formed at the corners of those eyes, and Shingetsu blinked in shock when timid fingers reached to brush them away. He made to move away, but his insecurity seemed to give those fingers courage, courage to touch, to cup his cheeks and steady the body that he had not even known to be trembling.

"Shingetsu, Yuuma-kun loves you," he whispered, quoting the words of his younger self before leaning forth to kiss his chin. He made a low, choked sound, and pulled the boy closer as his eyes slid shut. All was quiet for a moment, and Yuuma nearly assumed that Shingetsu had fallen asleep. That was before he heard his voice resound from the depths of his mind.

"_**Thank you.**_"

Pain gripped his heart at those short but sincere words. Yuuma had rejected him, had little faith in him (rightfully or not), had hurt him, despite having promised to love and care for him. Before he could allow himself to wallow, though, he realized that this gentle promise was unending, was to be carried out throughout eternity. Even if he had botched some bits, there was more than enough time to right it. Why, he was doing so right now.

His soul reiterated his heartfelt words, "_Shingetsu, Yuuma-kun loves you._" And Shingetsu heard him, and was so very happy. "There's just one favor I have to ask."

"Anything, Yuuma-kun."

"Will you get me some real clothes?"

**OoO ~**

A lush garden extended just beyond the courtyard. Shrubbery both aesthetic and fertile grew as far as the eye could see. Several orchards were contained within the stretch of land, as well as an adjoining vineyard. The land was cultivated in a manner so that the garden would be mostly self-sustaining, so as not to disrupt the natural flow of the land, but Shingetsu still found pleasure in tending to it. It would not be very beautiful if it was overrun with weeds.

The garden was not the only thing looking good.

Yuuma very much appreciated the new clothing that his friend had tailored for him. A pair of comfortable, black slacks (pants! Glorious pants!), and a white button up. Simple and elegant. All he needed now was to neaten up his elongated hair. Not necessarily shorten it, but a new look would be nice.

Yuuma climbed one of the dozens of apple trees, hanging by his legs from a thick, rough branch. He had tried to pick one of the juicy, red apples dangling from the tree, ripe for harvesting, but Shingetsu bade him to wait. He did not want Yuuma to eat anything unwashed as a precaution, and Yuuma respected that. His mother had made a similar point once upon a time.

Shingetsu waited at the bottom, just in case an accident were to occur.

"You're a prince."

"Long ago, but, yes."

"That's amazing. So you were human once."

"Yes, though, I no longer remember what I looked like. I've gotten so used to this image."

Yuuma tapped his chin, pondering who Shingetsu's human form would have resembled. He had never actually thought about it. "I bet you were handsome," came his compliment. "You can see it."

"Excuse me?"

"You might be scary to look it, but you're actually not too bad of a catch." That was certainly not what he had expected to hear.

"You're serious?"

"One hundred percent."

"Y-Yuuma-kun... Oi! Be careful!" Yuuma's melodious laughter filled the open air at his panicked tone, and he did not cease his light sway. It just felt so good to be out, to inhale the salty, sea air, to feel the free winds upon his skin, to squint at the luminous sun above, to hear the waves breaking in the distance... To feel them break in his heart.

How happy he had been when Shingetsu had brought him out of his room, and permitted him to roam about as he pleased. He had been so sure... After Vector had said...

That thought brought up an entirely different discussion.

"What's your real name?"

"My real name? Yuuma-kun, my name is Shingetsu."

"No. That's the name I gave you, back when we first met. What's your given name? Why... Why did you let me name you?"

"You gave me hope, Yuuma-kun," came his immediate, candid reply. "_**Hope that... That past failures would never bind me, hope for a brighter future.**_" The boy closed his eyes when Shingetsu spoke from his heart. "_**So I thought of you as... As a utopia. I wanted to be completely and utterly yours. So, I let you choose my name. Why Shingetsu, though?**_"

"_I don't think I put as much... thought behind it as you did. I just thought it sounded nice. You liked it, right?_"

"I would not trade the name for the world. If you must know, though, my real name is Vector."

"Is that so...?"

"What are you sniggering about?"

"It's just that... It's such a dorky name!"

"Quiet, Yuuma-kun," was his curt command, but his ill-concealed smile contradicted him.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop." When he could finally speak in an even tone, he asked, "What made you choose me?"

"_**This. You're the only person whose heart was ever open to me. I would like to believe that we're soulmates.**_" Frank and flustering as always. Still, soulmates held a nice ring to it. "_**That's why I gave you that.**_" Around his neck hung the tiny diamond from a slim, silver chain; a symbol of the bond between him and his Shingetsu. "_**My mother gave that to me as a present upon my coronation. She told me to give it to the one I loved above all. I knew it was going to be a tough decision, but I didn't know that it would take several lifetimes to fulfill. It was well worth the wait for you, Yuuma-kun.**_" At these words, Yuuma purposely let himself drop, all so he could be caught by his companion. Shingetsu tensed, still unused to touching Yuuma (part of him wondered if he would ever be used to it), but melted once Yuuma wrapped his arms around his neck and placed a kiss upon his cheek.

"You can come live at my house. It's not much, but, you'll be part of my family. I mean, you already are, but we can make it official. Sobo will like you, and I know you'll like her. And, I don't know if you already have a last name... I'd be happy to give you mine." Shingetsu turned his head away as Yuuma spoke, his expression hidden. The boy called to him a few times before becoming fed up with his childish refusal to reply. "Idiot. Say something." He pouted and made to poke his cheek, only to wail at the dramatic flare of wings before he was hoisted into the air. A brief sensation of free falling rendered him immobile and dumb. Then he was helplessly dangling in midair, Vector's maiacal cackle flooding his ears.

"Tsukumo Vector, huh? How sweet of you! Making my name less 'dorky'!" Then he flipped Yuuma, clutching roughly the fabric of his collar before flinging him into the rough bark of the apple tree, not hard enough to cause permanent injury, but enough to knock the wind from his lungs. Vector hovered, watching as Yuuma clung to the branch as best he could while gasping for breath. "You're really hard of hearing, aren't you? I've already told you that your family is dead. I'm the only one you got left." When Yuuma swung at him, the already damaged branch cracked and snapped, sending the boy plummeting to the gravelly ground. Though Vector caught him easily, a deserved kick to the face slackened his hold enough for Yuuma to weasel out of it and make a mad sprint for his home.

He did not get very far before he halted of his own accord and sunk to his knees, his breath reduced to short, quick pants.

Where would he run to? Heartland City? He did not even know his current whereabouts.

Vacant eyes – whose sight blurred and returned in succession – remained on the dull pastures, blinking once he saw clear droplets wet them. He looked to the brilliant heavens above; not a sign of rain. Soft fingers gingerly traced the trails of moisture lining those cheeks, flinching away when another wave of hot tears spilled over.

"It's a lie," he whispered, small and weak at first. Then, more confidently, he said, "It's a lie." Yuuma got to his feet and turned to face Vector, who had not moved an inch from where he had left him, as though he had expected Yuuma to return.

Finally, when he was but a hair's breadth from Vector, he enunciated each word with conviction, "It. Is. A. Lie."

"So what? If you're so sure of yourself, then go."

"I still have family left."

"Go and see, then."

"I don't have to."

"Oh?"

"I'm looking right at that person." The look of astonishment in those amethyst jewels was as priceless as it was heartbreaking. "That invitation... It wasn't for Shingetsu alone, you know." Cautiously, as if not to perturb Vector, he took the clawed hand between his own and said, "You and Shingetsu are one to me. It doesn't matter if you take different names. Sure, you're an asshole, and you're always picking on me, and you have very few redeemable qualities, and -"

"- get to to the point, Yuuma."

"Ah, well... It's difficult to explain, but, you complement each other. Like... Like you're two sides of the same coin. Vector or Shingetsu, I love you both."

"... I'm your little hummingbird, huh?" he teased, burying his face in the crook of Yuuma's neck, snickering at the squeak that escaped, and relaxing into the slender arms that wrapped themselves around him.

"You are," he affirmed. They stayed in that position for a while, until Vector grew bored and decided that spontaneous liftoff would give Yuuma quite the thrill.

Soaring through the skies untamed was an experience of surreal proportions. An experience that had been thwarted by dulled senses from a cruel night. Vague recollections of being lifted into the air, something shielding him from the arctic winds returned with this ride, but they paled in comparison to the rush that came with being wide awake.

Barreling along the winds, looping through the clouds (the fluffy, white wisps dispersing with even the slightest contact), high-fiving the sky, seeing the big, beautiful world in ways unimaginable, awakened his thirst for adventure, and elicited yells of excitement with each twist and turn. Vector, his harness, and the world, his roller coaster.

While Yuuma took in the scenery blurred by high speeds, relishing every second of this wild ride, Vector could only watch him; could only see the wonder etched to that face; could only have his breath stolen by wide eyes that reflected the vast skies and shimmering waters.

He flew high above the sparkling ocean, and dropped Yuuma. The boy bayed, hands flailing, just praying to even grab hold of the winds that whipped viciously at him. For a moment, he truly thought that Vector would let him die, but that depressing belief was squashed when he caught the thrashing boy, and set him upon the sandy shores.

"You bastard! That was -"

"- fun, right? What? You don't think that I would have let you be killed, huh? And here I thought we were family. Besides, there's something I need you to see." His curiosity piqued, but Vector did not satiate it immediately. He prompted Yuuma to play for a while instead, to enjoy the sand between his toes and tread the awaiting waters until he was content. His innate impatience ate away at him, though, making it near impossible to follow that otherwise desirable instruction. It took even less time for an exasperated Vector to practically baptize the boy with seawater.

Finally, when Yuuma was soaked to the bone and freezing, he said, "There is a reason I brought you here."

"Really? And I thought you were just being a jerk." Vector said nothing to the snark, opting to turn his back to the rolling waves, advancing to where the sand faded into grass, and the natural flora flourished.

They ventured some ways into the forest, still near enough to see the shoreline, and came to a stop at the base of a gargantuan oak tree, whose green foliage bore a healthy thickness that shaded against the sun's intensity, but allowed for soft streams of golden light to slip through, illuminating the two crosses that pierced the uneven soil, marking the makeshift graves that laid there.

Yuuma dropped to his knees, already knowing what was to be said, but still wanting to cling to whatever shred of hope existed that would disprove what he was witnessing.

"_**I'm sorry, Yuuma-kun,**_" came that pained whisper from the back of his mind, and it clung to his consciousness even as Yuuma weakly fought to keep the invasive presence out. "_**I really did try to save her, but she was already gone by time I got there. I can heal, but I don't have the power to give back life. I have the power to take it, though.**_" Yuuma shuddered at that sentence, partially from fear, partially from satisfaction. That devil in the white suit deserved whatever demise Vector had dealt.

When nothing but a choked sob came from the boy, he continued, "_**I had gone to get obaachan from the house while you were still unconscious. I figured you would want her with you. I... I thought she had just fallen asleep at first. She looked so peaceful.**_"

"No... It's a lie," he whimpered, tears cascading down his flushed cheeks, eyes locked on the crosses. There was still the vaguest chance that Vector had been mistaken.

Any and all doubts were erased when Vector knelt before him and pressed their emblems together. A bitter melancholy mangled his aching heart as he beheld a maelstrom of memories. He had known that he was telling the truth, he had known it since the very first time Vector allowed himself to be vulnerable before Yuuma, just so the boy could have but a taste of his passion, but no one would ever want to believe that the life one knew was over.

In that moment, he became Vector, Shingetsu. Every sense attuned to the unchangeable past.

_The disfigured corpses strewn through the bloodied alleyway. The white suit dyed red. The battered, terrified blond who cradled the sleeping child. The glazed eyes of the dead girl. The quivering of the little boy curled at her side._

_The coldest dread overcame him when he felt the clamminess of his little friend's body. Shingetsu pulled the limp body to him in one fluid movement, intertwining their bodies and murmuring ragged apologies to the disoriented boy._

"_Yuuma-kun, please don't give up! I promise you'll be okay." Not once did he relinquish his hold on Yuuma, even as he made his way over to the blond one, who hissed at him to release the boy and stay away. It was only when that clawed hand brushed against him, permitting the healing energies to work, did the blond go silent. Still stifling his obvious fear, but now drenched with curiosity and... perhaps gratitude. _

"_You're saving me?"_

"_If you don't want to be taken into custody for mass murder -" definitely Vector speaking "- I suggest you take my little gift and run with it." Harsh, as usual._

"_What of him?"_

"_Let him be my concern. You've got your own problems."_

_Then he fled with Yuuma._

_Discarded the tattered clothing, cleaned and disinfected and assuaged his wound, warmed him, never left his side for the world. Showered him with such affection, such devotion, such love. So much love, enough to drown him with. And worry. Oh, it was overflowing! When would Yuuma-kun wake up? Would he be afraid? He would be so miserable when he... Nee-chan... Why did you have to die? Spiraling depression consumed those thoughts, only to be abated whenever the little rascal nuzzled against him. He was so playful! Even in his sleep! Let's play, Yuuma-kun!_

_Sweet touches bathed in a curative heat. A still disoriented Yuuma limply engaging with him. So innocent and fun and sad._

_He'd want his obaachan too, right? _

_Before he left, he swaddled Yuuma with the present he had intended to deliver (the plush, purple robe) and tucked him away in that large canopy bed, observing his slumbering form but for a moment before he went to collect the living._

_Haru sat so still in the parlor, her knitting utensils still in her lap, as though she had merely fallen asleep. She never responded to any of Shingetsu's pleas or nudges or even when he flung himself into her lap and wept. "Wake up! Wake up! Obaachan! You can't... You can't be..."_

_The raw, inhuman scream that tore from Shingetsu_ became Yuuma's, and the boy slumped against the winged beast. Still, Vector did not let up, wanting the boy to know exactly what had happened, wanting him to accept the truth of the situation.

"_Hello," a timid voice came, and Shingetsu made haste to hide himself. A pretty girl with green hair entered the household, calling to the old woman, concerned as to why the door had been unlocked. She had called to the sister, and to Yuuma. "Obaasan!" she cried out upon beholding her unmoving form, and the child mirrored his earlier actions. Shingetsu took his leave, unsure of how to handle - unable to watch this torturous scene._

_It wasn't fair! Not at all fair! That damned man! It was all his fault! If he was still breathing – jagged claws dug into his palms – **I'd rip him to shreds...**_

_He stole – or, rather he reclaimed the corpses. They were Yuuma's family, after all; it was for the best. _

_**Wake up! Wake up!**_

_At the base of that oak tree, Shingetsu dug two, deep graves. He embalmed the bodies of the deceased, of Akari and Haru Tsukumo, and carefully wrapped them in white sheets before lowering them into their eternal place of rest._

_Then he recited a prayer in tongue long forgotten by mankind, and lamented the loss._

_Yuuma-kun's family... My family... T-They're..._

"No more," he begged, shaky hands settling upon broad shoulders. "Please... No more." They were gone. They had left him behind; they had gone to a place where he could not yet reach. Surely this pain – this ungodly pain – that mercilessly tortured him would not leave him alive for long. That would be far too cruel.

Yet, Vector did his very best to alleviate even an infinitesimal portion of that devastation, and Yuuma could not despise his attempts.

He secured Yuuma in an impregnable lock, and the boy curled against his form like the helpless child he was. Firm, soothing touches - along his arms, his sides (which made him involuntarily giggle despite his obvious hurt), his shoulders, his back, never once advantageous - anchored him where words failed. No ridicule came either, Vector's face remaining buried in that creamy neck, nuzzling it occasionally, and Yuuma shuddered at the iciness of the thick skin.

He tilted Yuuma's head, cupping his cheeks and used his thumbs to wipe away his tears. It was upsetting to see those precious rubies puffy and bloodshot, to hear his incessant sniveling, and to feel the tremor of those succulent lips when he pressed against him, wary eyes sliding shut as he sighed, "I wish... I want... I wish you didn't have to feel this way. I want to make you feel..."

In that moment, Yuuma could not distinguish between the two personalities. Was this Vector speaking, or Shingetsu? The gruff quality that Vector bore remained prominent, but there was a docility that belonged to his Shingetsu that Vector could never possess.

Whoever it was, he was honestly surprised when he felt meek lips brush against the part where his own should be. For how long they remained this way, Yuuma had forgotten. What he did remember was that his dear friend had become his pillow, the thin streams of fading sunlight had become his nightlight, and the quiet rustling of leaves against the zephyrs had become his lullaby.

* * *

**©Kitty Seeboo**

* * *

_**1) **_**Sobo** - used when you speak about your grandmother to your friends or others.


	3. Part Three

**A/N: **Phew! Terribly sorry for the late update, but thank you all for your patience. Here's the final installment of **Beast**. It took me a long time to edit this down to the way I wanted it to be. Shout out to Yubel from _**Yu-Gi-Oh! GX** _in there too! And you get a little insight on Haruto to boot! Thank you, everyone, for your support and I hope you enjoy this ending as much as I enjoyed writing it. Au revoir! R&R.

Also! Some NSFW scenes up ahead!

**Part Three**

* * *

Without fail, Yuuma would frequent the graves, and while Shingetsu had the utmost confidence that Yuuma would not slip away whilst he ventured out, Vector was far more insecure. The boy would pretend not to notice, but even that became difficult when Vector chose not to conceal his presence. Yuuma did not mind, though. It was nice (_lifesaving_) to have company during his visits.

He would leave flowers some days, and others he would simply sit and converse with them as though they were truly there.

"_You won't believe who I met, Nee-chan! Shingetsu! I know. I know. You're going to say that it's all in my head, but I'm telling you the truth! He's real! He says his real name is Vector, and he takes really good care of me. He... He saved me. Though, sometimes, I wish he hadn't." _

_Enraged amethyst bore into his soul, a cold tension stifling the boy._

"_What did you say?" he snarled._

_Yuuma wisely amended his blunder. "B-But, I'm glad you saved me! I truly am!"_

"_There is no life for me without you." Vector pulled the boy to him, his unbreakable grip ensnaring him. "If anything happened to you..."_

"_I'm alive," he breathed, silencing his partner. "I'm alive, and I'm here with you. Though I... I'll always miss you guys, no matter what. But, Vector, that does not mean I'm unhappy with you. I told you, I've waited a long time to meet my cute hummingbird."_

_He really would never get over how easily he could stun Vector._

"_Don't think you can get away with saying such embarrassing things!" he stammered, and pounced on the boy, wicked fingers eliciting a frenzied laughter from the onslaught of tickles._

While the turbulence of the situation had simmered, the irreparable damage caused haunted the boy. His appetite had been cut for a long time, not even the lure of onigiri triggering it. His physique was noticeably slimmer, to the point where the attire that had been tailored specifically for him became quite loose. He was not unhealthy, per se, but Vector still abhorred how frail he had become.

Not that it made Vector love him any less, but it did imbue him with wicked plans to persuade Yuuma to eat more.

Vector wished to teach him how to make simple dishes at one point, and his own eagerness appealed to Yuuma's. It was only when he realized that the damned creature was planning to dress him in nothing but a mere apron did he whack him with a pot spoon and barricade himself in his room before coming out when hunger got the better of him.

He had easily regained some weight over the course of the next few weeks.

Yuuma could not say that he could ever be normal again, in any aspect of the word, yet he could not fight the contentment that came with Shingetsu's – even Vector's – presence. Just knowing that he was still cared for was the most wonderful feeling.

Hung in the few gaps of silence between them was a question that begged to be answered. It weaseled its way into every unoccupied thought, pressuring sealed lips to speak the words: _How did you become this, Shingetsu? Vector?_

When he had finally mustered up the courage to ask, the question was deflected with self-proclaimed amnesia since the time of his metamorphosis had been '_so long ago_'. Ignorance versus persistence culminated into an intense verbal spat before Vector ceded and Shingetsu took his place.

"I'd really rather not say, Yuuma-kun," he admitted sheepishly. "I... I did some terrible things... And I was punished accordingly."

"What did you do?" he pressed. Shingetsu fidgeted under the scrutiny, and Yuuma imagined that he would look just adorable blushing.

"My kingdom was at war with another. A war that my father began. I... I just wanted it to end. If he hadn't been such a... such a beast, then she'd still be alive!"

"Who?"

"My mother..." Shingetsu leaned into the boy, and laid down with him atop the sheets. He said nothing for a while, a much missed peace claiming him as he felt the rhythmic rise and fall of his best friend's chest, and listened to his soft breaths as the boy patiently waited for Shingetsu to continue. "When she died, I just didn't know what to do. And I... I..."

"You loved her," Yuuma stated, treading his fingers through silver hair in an effort to soothe him; it helped.

"Naturally." He chuckled. "It's funny, really. What happens to you when you lose the only person who truly loved you. She'd hated my father's war, so I tried to stop it the only way I could. I was a very skilled swordsman, better than that man ever could have been."

"You... You killed your father."

"Treason was punishable by death, however, they decided that scum like me would be a prime candidate to experiment upon." His voice strained with the grief – the guilt – that flooded his senses as he recalled the hazy memory.

"No."

"Please don't cry, Yuuma-kun," Shingetsu breathed into his ear, loving the full-body shudder it produced. How he hated the sight of tears in those precious orbs! No matter how much he loved brushing those eyes and cheeks and just holding his beloved. How he yearned to do everything in his power to take that pain away.

Yuuma hung on every word, though, engraving them into his memory.

"You didn't do anything wrong!" he growled, pushing slightly against Shingetsu's chest. "Yet, they..."

"I hardly call murder not doing anything wrong," his companion scoffed, but withered beneath the harsh glare he received.

"He was a tyrant, wasn't he? If anything, they should have removed him themselves!"

"It was a different time, Yuuma-kun."

"It doesn't matter." All was quiet for a moment, save for Yuuma's shaky sighs. Then he sat up and tightened his sash. With this information fresh in his mind, there would be no sleeping tonight. Not yet, anyway. They could go out for a bit. Perhaps another visit to the ocean for a relaxing, late night swim?

'_Nah._'

A moonlight stroll through the garden?

'_Nope._'

"Let's do something fun!" he abruptly declared, startling the winged one. It was not that those prior activities were unappealing, but they would not deliver a sufficient enough distraction.

"Like what?" he chuckled in reply, taking Yuuma's hands and letting the boy pull him up.

"Like. Like! Like this!" He bounced on the bed, each spring taking him higher and higher, and he even dared to flip and land on his knees. Giddy mirth affected the boy's companion, and he was more than happy to participate in these puerile activities.

They joined hands and bounced and played like blithe children who feared not the consequences in light of their enjoyment. Yuuma's more risky antics did worry Shingetsu briefly, but he was in no mood to damper his soaring spirits.

Besides, there was no way he would risk seeing the smile he loved so much disappear.

_**Smack!**_

Thus commenced an epic pillow fight between the two. Yuuma was quite the excellent combatant. While his defense was poor, his enthusiastic offense more than amended for it. So untamed was he that he would end up falling off the bed more times than not, earning worried cries from Shingetsu that he would easily brush off with a quick, "I'm good!"

Yuuma would definitely have made a good soldier, he thought, with the proper training, of course. Resilient, eager, qualities of a true warrior. In this moment, though - whether it was a battle of fists, swords, or pillows - there was no feasible way that he could outclass Shingetsu.

He pounced, seizing the giggling boy and taking them both to the bed. They held each other, happiness reverberating between them. The prince's laughter caught first, and he permitted himself the luxury of listening to the mesmerizing, carefree laugh of his young friend.

One day he should teach him how to wield a sword. Then they would have game they could play outside these bedroom walls. Yuuma would surely love that.

"_You're going to need to be better than that to beat me, Vector." A regal voice to match oceanic eyes._

… On second thought, he would rather not reopen such painful wounds.

Yuuma frowned at his companion's abrupt despondency. Had he done something upsetting? More importantly: What could he do to undo it?

Perhaps he could give Shingetsu a massage. Yeah! He had always done so for Yuuma, squeezing his feet (tickling them sometimes) until the boy fell into a deep sleep. Anything to wipe that unsightly depression from his features.

"What are you doing?" Shingetsu asked, jolting at the feel of tanned hands upon his calves.

"Giving you a massage."

"Why?"

"Because you always do nice stuff for me, and I want to return the favor."

"You don't have to -"

"- you're right. I don't have to. I want to." Who was he to deny his precious Yuuma-kun what he wanted? Physical contact was something he was still unused to, though. He could not help but fidget beneath those inquisitive digits, nor fight the sounds that slipped past his lips because _**oh**_... This felt really _**good**_.

Carefully, so as to not cause any accidents, a claw tentatively brushed against that focused face. Then another touch. And another. Each growing bolder and bolder as Yuuma wilted beneath them. Shingetsu sat up, cupping the young one's cheeks.

"Don't be scared. I won't hurt you." How many times have those words (or variations thereof) evoked a hasty snap of denial? Yet this time, all they did was wash away his uncertainty and unease.

"Sh-Shingetsu..."

"I want to touch you," came his blunt request. "To remember... About my body. About your body. I want to know everything about you." Terror flared for an instant, and Yuuma nearly withdrew his consent, but he calmed himself. He trusted Shingetsu, with all his heart and soul. He cared for him. They cared for each other. They cherished each other above all else. "Please. Please let me touch you."

His cheeks reddened, and an unexpected chill raised goosebumps. Patiently, Shingetsu waited until Yuuma finally acquiesced via a wordless nod.

Yuuma quickly learned that Shingetsu had about as much self-restraint as Vector.

A fierce passion coupled with relentless caresses left the boy squirming and breathless. Hands both gentle and prying discarded his attire, baring him despite his objections. Shingetsu easily coaxed him into a mental repose with soft coos that insisted on his loveliness. Then he bundled his robe with care and placed it beside them on the large bed before lowering himself unto the trembling boy.

How tragically beautiful and fragile his precious Yuuma was. How erotic it was to have every nerve flare against even the lightest of strokes. How incredible it was to feel that firm, tight core beneath his fingertips. How his own chuckles would mingle with snorts and giggles whenever Shingetsu grazed his sides and stomach. So very sensitive, so very powerful was this boy, to hold such enchantment over his being.

Sensual and delicate. That was the only way to describe Shingetsu's love. He took his sweet time, lavishing the boy with an affection that he had never dreamed of receiving. Traced every contour of his body, worshiping the entity that had allowed this unworthy one the honor of his surrender. All the while, he relished in the responses those ministrations produced. Every whine. Every gasp. Every plea. Every contradictory desire whispered in the heat of the moment. For him to stop _("Don't stop."_). For him to slow down ("_Touch me more."_).

How he yearned to taste the caramel flesh that begged for attention. To leave love marks along his neck, his arms that quivered with each touch. To flick at those rosy buds that drew pleasured squeals and escape attempts whenever he tweaked them. To nibble that toned abdomen just as he felt those muscles flex beneath his talented dance. To lick along his thighs and calves and feet, taste the delicious creaminess that he adored tending to (especially his wiggling toes!).

If his smell was any indicator (fragrant lotion intermixed with his own, enticing scent that utterly intoxicated Shingetsu), Yuuma was beyond delicious.

He parted those unresisting legs and nestled between them, eliciting strangled moans that only heightened the intensity of the moment. Strong hands struggled to keep them apart when he nuzzled the heated join.

Yuuma squealed and arched at the foreign touch. Head thrashing against the pillows; body squirming in an effort to evade the sensation; fingers clutching the sheets in a death grip; toes curling until he swore his feet would cramp. This was too much. It was making him dizzy. He had to... He had to... What could he do?

A particularly harsh tug at his hair stole Shingetsu's attention from the treat before him, and turned it to the desirous face of the boy before him. Poor Yuuma. High off of the purest ecstasy, and so utterly torn between desperately wanting to stop and literally begging Shingetsu to continue.

"Shingetsu... Shingetsu... I -"

"- sh... It's OK. Just relax."

"I want to touch too." Yuuma leaned forward (Shingetsu shifting enough to accommodate him) and pressed his lips to his cheek. Plump lips planted slow, tender kisses all along his jawline, his forehead, his big, beautiful eyes, everywhere and anywhere Yuuma was permitted. With Shingetsu, Yuuma was free to do whatever his little heart desired. A tenacious explorer by nature, it was not long before their positions were reversed.

Claws gripped his own gray hair, mewling at the feeling of Yuuma's mouth upon his oversensitive body. He loved the way his teeth grazed the tough skin, the way his pink tongue shyly peeked out for a lick before retracting and hiding until it found the courage to come out and play once more. Everything was going swimmingly until he kissed his centerpiece.

Tremendous pleasure overloaded his system from that slight contact. It was so much different than when he pressed the Emperor's Key to it. Perhaps it was because Yuuma had initiated the contact. Whatever evoked such a reaction, it awakened Vector.

Yuuma found himself on his back once more, his legs slung hastily across those broad shoulders. Confused and extremely chagrined at the sudden exposure, he was about to ask Shingetsu what the big idea was, but the question morphed into a wail when a large, warm hand closed around his slim organ.

"Shin... Shingetsu!" he cried, writhing under his unyielding grip, but his attempts to combat the overwhelming bliss were futile.

"Vector," he chimed in correction, running his fingers along the length. Vector set a nice rhythm and pressed his free hand against his stomach. Could not have him running away now, could he?

"Here feels good, yeah?" While his whimper was answer enough, the avid responses that followed were delightful pluses.

The way the boy cried and arched and twisted beneath his merciless attentions aroused Vector in ways he had never experienced before. It was exactly what he wished for; Yuuma helpless beneath him, delirious beyond the point of return, not only allowing his touches, but encouraging (not saying, "No," in this case) and even reciprocating them. And it made him _**burn**_.

He would slow his pace sporadically, make Yuuma whine in need and thrust against his hold before the boy would catch himself and shoot colorful expletives at Vector. There were times he would stop altogether, caving to the urge to light his body afire with teasing touches, wanting nothing more than to elongate the euphoria that they both felt. It was only when he saw the beginnings of frustrated tears in those eyes and heard the broken mutter, "Please..." did he give the boy release.

Was that a sight to witness.

Total abandon continued well into the night, neither in a rush to finish, not by lust nor selfishness. Only curiosity. What did the other feel like? What made the other feel good? What more can we do? This is OK, right? This means we care for each other, right?

An expression of love, of need. An effort to understand what had been denied, what had never been discovered.

Shingetsu's want to fulfill Yuuma in every way; Vector's want to hear his screams redefine the word '_**loud**_' (ironically enough, it was Vector himself who was the loudest when tanned digits drummed against his centerpiece); Yuuma's want to simply be with the one who was always there for him.

Unending bliss.

When Yuuma awakened next, he found himself encircled by strong arms. Never had he had the luxury of simply watching his partner sleep. He looked so peaceful (and harmless) in this state, like the guardian angel he had always thought him to be.

When he looked into those violet eyes, though, embarrassment took over, and a smack to the head followed by a flustered cry of, "Idiot!" was his wake-up call. Shingetsu took no offense to it as – while he buried his face into the sheets and refused to make eye contact with his lover – Yuuma did not attempt to break their embrace.

"My precious Yuuma-kun," he cooed, nuzzling into dark locks. Red orbs peeked up at him before he was rewarded with a kiss. No words were needed to convey what they felt. Besides, Shingetsu was more than content to simply treasure the shy smile that played on those scrumptious lips.

**~ OoO ~**

"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"

"I'll be fine, Shingetsu! I'll be right in the garden. Just need a breather from that stuffy room."

"Yuuma-kun -"

"- I'll be right back. And don't sic Vector on me either. Gimme an hour, OK?"

"... OK. Just! Just be careful."

"I'm right outside," Yuuma huffed. "I can't even stub my toe without you coming to rescue me. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Spending every day with Shingetsu (and Vector) was a dream come true, it really was. Yuuma never grew tired of being in his company, but he was a free spirit. Being cooped up in a castle was not his idea of an adventure. Neither was being watched. Mischievous as he was, he was no infant. He would be turning fourteen in a matter of weeks! Surely he could fend for himself in this secluded haven.

He tested the waters by wading a bit past the palace's perimeters, but he was so very certain no harm would come to him. He was in more danger defying Akari's '_**No Duel**_' rule anyway.

That was when he saw it; a wisp of sky blue that beckoned him, humming an angelic tune that enthralled the boy. It flickered when his fingertips scraped it, appearing once again a short distance away. Its range fluctuated, appearing at times within his grasp, only to gently nudge his necklace before vanishing once again, while creating an unbridgeable divide between them at others. It lured the boy farther and farther from safety, into the forest's shade.

The palace was gargantuan, he thought, it would not be hard at all to find it. Even if he could not, he could just follow the sound of the ocean. Sure, Shingetsu would scold him for making him worry, and Vector would probably lock him up for a week, but those consequences were trivial compared to the game between himself and this enchanting light.

"Hey! Come back!" he called, vaulting over a fallen tree. It did not yield to his cry, though, dragging him among the towering greenery. Down steep slopes, across mossy rocks, zigzagging to the point that Yuuma began to wonder if it was leading him in circles to purposely disorient him.

Finally, though, it brought him to a clearing. Beneath the faded illumination of the setting sun, the area held a surreal quality that brought Yuuma a peace he had never felt in his lifetime. So unfamiliar it was, yet so soothing. He sat atop a soft tuft of grass, running his fingers through the blades as he looked around. Did Shingetsu know of this place? Once he got back to the castle, he would certainly show it to him. That was if he did not come find him first, he thought with a chuckle. Poor Shingetsu. Worried for naught.

The little light seized his attention from the beauty of this place, emitting a radiant, white aura before its transformation began.

Gradually it grew, the formless light filling out the frame of some creature of divinity. A true angel.

A girl – perhaps no older than himself - of beauty undefined, with hair from which the skies and oceans derived their hues, and a flowing gown as white as snow. A creature of innocence, he would have believed, if not for those piercing, red eyes, so full of sorrow and loss that Yuuma almost looked away to spare himself her palpable misery.

What could have made her so sad?

"Hello," Yuuma chirped, jumping to his feet and bowing slightly to her. "I'm Tsukumo Yuuma! What's your name?"

"Merag," she replied after a moment, and Yuuma swooned at her voice. Like sweet, sweet honey.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" Silly question, seeing that this girl was obviously a spirit.

"I am searching for my brother."

"Where did you lose him?" Her white hand raised, index pointing towards Yuuma, who actually spun around in fear that the brother was behind him. Pretty or not, he truly did not know what she was capable of. Wary eyes glanced back at her, but she remained where she hovered, eyes seeing a time beyond Yuuma.

"Over there."

"Would you like me to help you look?"

"You can't find him."

"What makes you say that?"

"The beast took his life." He had assumed the brother to be already dead, but her words still floored him.

"I... I'm sorry." Tears shimmered in those eyes, but he brushed them away. Yuuma understood the pain of losing a sibling, and empathized with her loss. His soul must have still been trapped somewhere. Perhaps the beast that killed him devoured his soul, or perhaps his death was so gruesome that the soul was hellbent on vengeance.

Yuuma really did not have a wish to meet an _**Onry**__**ō**_ anytime soon.

When he found the will to look at Merag once more, he yelped in fright when he found her mere inches from his face. The grass cushioned his fall.

"He was an evil, mad king, sent to Earth by Satan. That Vector," she sneered, though her voice lost none of its delicacy.

'_Vector?_'

"His father began that war, and he lied to my brother. Told him that he would end it. That he had the best intentions. He plundered our kingdom, burned it to ashes, killed so many innocent people. Killed his own people! His own parents!" Her aura became lethal, oozing chaos that overpowered her light.

No fear nor shock could move him from his stupor, his predominant thought amidst this revelation was, '_Vector...? Shingetsu? He... He lied to me? No. No! It couldn't be!_'

"My Nasch was a great leader. A respected king. I loved him. Everyone loved him. And I foolishly believed that Vector loved him too." Her tears shone and floated, gracing the air with the heartbreaking splendor of their aggregate sorrow. "By the time I had gotten the vision..."

Unmerciful red eyes narrowed at Yuuma. "After all the wrong he has committed, he dares to be happy? Silly mortal, don't be fooled. He does not love you. You are the only one who is blind enough to be deceived by him. So he clings to you, hopes that there is something in you that can vanquish the curse, but there is nothing. You are just a human."

"Shingetsu wouldn't do that!" he challenged, jumping to his feet once more. "He wouldn't hurt your brother! I just know it! Besides, he wasn't cursed! Those damn monsters tortured him for slaying his terrible father!" He was met with a derisive laugh.

"Does he think himself akin to Yubel? Blasphemy! He is far too disgusting to -"

" - don't you dare speak of my family that way!"

A faint glimmer of green shone forth from the golden necklace, the divine power sealed within seeping out. She could feel it, had felt it ages prior to this destined meeting. Felt it in the earth – once plagued by the tendrils of festering chaos – that rejoiced at the power untapped for centuries; in the wind – once pungent with the nauseating scent of blood – that spread the awakening light; in her own, incorporeal existence – corrupted and bound by evil – that was slowly cleansed by that inconspicuous glow.

To think that an object of such supreme importance had fallen into the hands of a mere mortal... A stupid boy!

"You mean your lover?" she spat, contempt for the foul human before her driving her to distance herself. His eyes widened at her choice of words, but he did not refute them. "I see. I thought I could speak with you civilly. Save you, even, before he destroys you also. Clearly, I was wrong. You do not want to be saved. You're too far gone with this facade." An ominous green set her eyes aglow. Yuuma found himself paralyzed by a fear he had not known since that grievous night. Wide eyes reflected the suffocating fury she exuded, and his silent tongue had no words to diffuse the tension, to convince her that what she wanted to do was wrong.

"And if you willingly choose to be blind, then allow me to grant your wish."

A sword of white ice – of untainted power – pierced the emerald center of his necklace, pierced his chest, and he screamed at the agonizing, phantom pain it drew. Frantically, he clawed at his chest, his fingers unable to clutch the intangible hilt. It pulsed within him, brought him to his knees, showing no mercy for the one who committed the sin of gracing the beast with humanity.

Like a bomb, ready to detonate at a moment's notice.

_**Ticktock. Ticktock. Ticktock. Time's up.**_

Shrapnel ripping his innards apart. A blinding luminosity erupting before his very eyes.

Then: Darkness. That was all he knew.

He could hear well enough, smell, feel, but he could not see.

"Killing you quickly would be dissatisfying, and would be against my oath. Therefore, you will remain in this forest until you die, Tsukumo Yuuma. That is your punishment for associating with a beast."

If the Emperor's Key truly chose this child to be its herald, he would survive without a doubt.

Yuuma did not need his vision to know that she was gone. Her presence – that quickly went from inviting to oppressing – lifted from the land. The boy was alone. No voices filled his head, nor replied to his calls both internal and external.

His frantic yells of, "Shingetsu! Help me!" echoed through the forest, and he stumbled blindly, tripping over aerial roots, tumbling into shrubbery, finding a place to rest only to be pricked by thorns. The rugged terrain that Yuuma had such fun exploring had become his most dangerous enemy, and he had no way of retaliating.

How far had he wandered that he could no longer hear the ocean's aria? That the mental link established between himself and Shingetsu had waned until it vanished altogether?

Could it be that... that his dispute with Merag had afflicted his bond with Shingetsu? With Vector? No! It could not have! He was not so fickle as to discredit him, especially not because of some vengeful spirit who spat untruths!

The ceaseless battle against pitch black was waged; the indomitable underdog versus the infallible victor. A battle which eluded time, or perhaps time had simply forgotten it, for the shadows still had to dance to the rhythmic cycle of the sun, oft stopping to play with the boy who ran and spun wildly, only for his panic to lead him to a place where the shadows could not follow. Critters scurried about, briefly observing the mad human before either hiding or continuing about their days. As luck would have it, he encountered not one of predatory instinct.

The snap of twigs beneath his damaged sandals, the noisy chatter of various mammals and winged beasts, the roar of a monster (of his own pulse), all harmonizing at one point, complementing his decent into chaos. Further and further until he inevitably reached rock bottom.

That was when his legs were too bruised and sore to carry him any longer, and he sunk to the ground.

Distraught by his inability, he continued to holler for help, even after his voice grew hoarse, but none ever came. The distant screech of an owl was his only response.

It was nighttime, and neither Shingetsu nor Vector had come for him. It broke his heart, but – this time – he did not cry. Rather, being alone gave him some time to consider everything, to allow his mind to wander into foreboding territory. As he thought, he realized how well Merag's version of a history untold fit into Vector's (minus the unmentioned brother).

Enlightenment drowned away his hopelessness, and he began to categorize the information he had been dealt. Merag surely had to bear some grudge for her to weave this fabrication, for her to attack Yuuma so viciously. Then he was caught between believing Vector's tragic tale of being the victim of Frankenstein's experiment, and Merag's of righteous sorcery (though she did not specifically say that she caused it). Given the circumstances, both versions were plausible, leaving Yuuma at an impasse.

There was just no way they were referring to the same person.

He candidly believed so, until he recalled those blood-stained memories. Vector was a remorseless killer, whether those men had deserved it or not, akin to the mad prince which Merag spoke of. The more parallels he drew, the more he came to accept Merag's story, though he could not help but feel unfaithful for distrusting his beloved because of the clipped words of someone long deceased.

If by some miracle he were to find Vector again, he would ask, just for clarity. If he died via dehydration, starvation, or some other ungodly way, then he would cling to the prince's essence until they could speak face-to-face once more. Regardless of how this all ended, he would never stop believing in either Shingetsu or Vector.

If he could list one positive outcome, it would be that he could hear the kind voices of his parents hum quietly to him, and it spurred him on, his body creeping towards the source. Their son would reply with hushed words of requited love as he hurried to them, and he let his tears pour like rain. No matter how much time had elapsed, he could never forget those voices.

When he arrived at a certain point, he heard his father's strong voice cheer, _"Good job, my boy. Glad to see you haven't lost it."_

"Lost what?"

"_Your 'Kattobingu'." _How he had missed the phrase his father had coined.

"Yeah, Mom, Dad. _Kattobingu da ore_..." The pastures were nice and cool where he lay, and he sneezed when the blades tickled his nose. He could rest here, he thought. He would be safe and sound here, laid upon the grass. The faint scent of ripened fruit carried by the light breeze, and the boy licked his lips, his appetite stirred. With a yawn, he figured that it would do no harm to nap for a bit before he ate.

**~ OoO ~**

Morning dew bathed the land, shimmering delicately upon whichever surface was graced with this most gentle touch. A sleeping angel was what Yuuma resembled this early morn. The droplets lining his limp form set him aglow beneath the rays of the rising sun; the grass cradled him, protecting him as though he was a guardian of nature, conceived from a fervent love between Heaven and Earth.

A demon lowered himself beside the slumbering child; the only thing amiss with this peaceful scene. How he mourned, claws trembling as he touched the young one, fearing the worse for his health. He collapsed once he insured that the little one still breathed, wracked by muffled sobs, unable to move, to do anything of use. Vector could not even lift a finger to stroke Yuuma's chin, so immense was the power of his relief. Violet orbs could only stare at that handsome face, so utterly relaxed.

Just being able to look at him was a blessing on its own.

When Yuuma did not return within the hour, as promised... He had gone ballistic. Tearing through his palace, the forest, rocketing through the skies, along the sandy shores, searching every inch of the vast region for even the smallest trace of his Yuuma, screaming and begging Yuuma to come back to him.

'_He said he would stay! He said he loved me! He... He lied to me! No. No. Yuuma-kun would never lie to me. Then, did something...?_' Vector... or Shingetsu had fallen to the ground, unable to fathom such an abomination.

To see Yuuma laying in his garden – serene and lovely as he remembered – was a debt he could never repay to whichever god decided to pity him. So he let his tears be homage to the deity.

His incessant sniveling roused Yuuma from his rest. The sight of glazed, gray eyes instead of warm red shocked him, but it did not hinder him in the slightest from enveloping the human in an embrace that conveyed nothing but uncontrolled desperation and a tangible desire for solace.

Yuuma was his rock. His best friend. His lover. His _**everything**_.

"Yuuma-kun. Yuuma-kun. Don't leave. Please don't leave me. I can't... I don't know what to do... Please don't leave. Stay with me." No amount of reassurances could erase the trauma suffered by his fragile soul, and Yuuma – still drowsy and highly confused by the prince's cries and pleas – sang this melancholy melody with him.

"I won't leave. Never ever. Shingetsu, Vector, you hear me? I'll always be with you. Sh... I'm right here." He groaned as he felt those healing energies work their magic, assuaging his physical wounds, while his emotional reunion with his companion mended his soul.

Once some form of sensibility returned to the beast, he whisked Yuuma into his ravaged home, stripped him of his tattered clothing, bathed in steamy waters with him (where a blissful affair between blind and impassioned caresses occurred), before swathing him in luxurious silks and passionate heat.

Their limbs became so entangled as they slept that – when both finally awakened – separation seemed like an impossible feat. Still he was startled to be met with unseeing eyes. When he finally found his voice, the abnormal impairment was the first thing he could question.

Yuuma remained taciturn and thought of the spirit in the forest. How to tell Shingetsu about Merag? How to even begin to ask about their connection? How? How?

'_How?_'

'_**"How" what, Yuuma-kun?**_' Oh right. Telepathy. '_**What happened out there? Where has your sight gone? Why... Why couldn't I find you, no matter where I looked? I searched high and low and I couldn't find you.**_'

'_I screamed for you, for hours. How could you not hear me?_' "I couldn't even hear your thoughts." As though their bond was severed, barred from each other, stranded on separate planes of existence until one or both abandoned any hope of being reunited.

Yuuma could feel everything unhindered now: every shred of emotion; every word that echoed in his heart.

He pressed his head against Shingetsu's chest, listening to his strong heartbeat, his even breaths. Shingetsu spoke, and he shuddered at the pleasant thrum against his ear, though he paid no heed to one word he said. He had probably repeated Yuuma's statement, or something along those lines.

"... Who are Nasch and Merag?" Shingetsu jolted and rose abruptly, his shocked gaze fixed on Yuuma, who felt its unnerving pressure and fought the urge to check if his nose had grown twice its size, or if some other unlikely deformation had occurred.

Realizing that he was too dumbfounded to answer, Yuuma continued, "Merag was the one that led me out there. She -"

"- that's impossible, Yuuma-kun. Merag has been dead for centuries." For him to even know that name... He could not dispute their acquaintanceship. It would be hypocritical to even try, given the ludicrous nature of their own relationship.

Why? Why would she appear now? Before a boy that she knew not? Why did her soul still linger in this realm?

"H-How...?"

"She said you killed her brother." Sickening tension, a pollutant so foul and palpable that it made the boy nauseous, turned what was supposed to be a simple Q&A into an interrogation, but it could not break his will to pursue the truth. "Did you?"

No comment.

Yuuma inquired one last time, "Did you, Vector?" before he felt that gray body tense and wriggle free from his grasp.

"Isn't it obvious?" Vector snapped. "You're denser than you look."

"What happened?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. I want to know. You've told me a lot about your life, and you know me... Know me better than I know myself. I won't hate you, but I want to know why Merag has done this. Why she blinded me."

'_**Of course she did.**_'

"And why she hates you."

"... We used to play together, Nasch and I. Merag would join us sometimes, but she had different duties to attend to as a priestess. We always had fun, though."

_The two princes liked to watch the soldiers train, and would mimic what they saw in their own games. Sticks instead of swords. Bare skin instead of armor. Wrestling for the sake of carefree fun instead of to determine the strongest._

**I would always win against Nasch, though! Wha... What do you mean you don't believe me?!**

_The older boy would always win. Would always pin the boy with hair the hue of an orange sunset. Would always stare down at him with a triumphant smirk, eyes dancing every time he said, "I win."_

**Then my father had to start that stupid war...**

_Prince Vector did not understand why he could no longer visit Nasch or Merag at first. A stern backhand from his father silenced his questions and left him in misery. His mother would always play with him, though. Whenever he liked. A fine warrior she was. The one who took the time to train him in the art of sword fighting, and encouraged him to always look to the future and be brave and never falter in his beliefs. _

"_War doesn't last forever, my darling son." She pressed her lips to his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, his chin, his mouth._

"_But neither does peace," he murmured, nuzzling into his mother's bosom, and peering up at her through tearful orbs. _

"_Correct," she whispered, "but if you fight for a better future" - she dried those tears - "one will surely come. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day, surely."_

_The day she spoke of did come, after endless heartache. For his friends abroad, whose father had fallen in the war, yet Nasch – now King Nasch – had ascended the throne and chosen to defend his kingdom against the mad king's tyranny. Despite it all, the twins were trying their best to keep hope alive, for both themselves and their devoted denizens, and Vector was willing to help them._

_How he had broken down at the sight of the two, who had matured gorgeously. In greeting, he was showered with affection by them, as though to vindicate him of his father's heinous crimes. They starved their desires for a proper reunion, though, and focused on the more urgent matters. This disastrous war had to be stopped at all costs._

_The peace treaty they had forged in secret became public knowledge once his father fell ill. That was the day his mother tasted the blade of his father's sword, and the day Vector lost all connection to reality. As though a demon had possessed him, slowly devouring his soul and pressing him to continue his father's deeds, beginning with the very man who had mercilessly slaughtered thousands for the sake of conquest. _

"_Father dearest," he purred, brandishing his sword, the white steel glinting in the moonlight. He cackled as he reflected the light into the dying man's eyes. "How pathetic thou art. Falling to your own son!" He raised his sword, a menacing grin upon his lips as he chirped, "You know why? Because you lose your head too easily!"_

_**Slice!**_

_Off it popped, and dyed the cobblestone red, bulging eyes boring into demented violet._

**I cannot blame my actions on anyone but myself. The blood lust... I just couldn't rid myself of it. I hurt so many people. People who I swore to that I would end this suffering and carnage. I mocked them. And murdered them. Are you afraid, Yuuma-kun? Are you afraid of the beast?**

_Nasch would never surrender his beloved friend to the madness that had consumed him, but he could not allow his kingdom to be destroyed either. If a duel was what he wanted, then that was what he would get._

"_A duel to the death," Vector sang, twirling his sword. "The victor gets a carrot!"_

"_Why are you doing this, Vector?"_

"_'Why'? Poor, naïve Nasch!" he laughed. "The real question is, 'When'."_

"_'When'?"_

"_You know! When are you going to admit defeat? When are you going to tell your sister goodbye? When are you going to bid your knight, good night?"_

"_Vector!"_

_Nasch had always known Vector. Playful but never aggressive. Teasing but never ridiculing. Determined but never deadly. Eyes the color purple, eyes that always announced his royalty, eyes of kindness and love that now bled to a savage red. It was just as Merag had foretold in their childhood. Knowing eyes that saw the future, permitting an obedient tongue to deliver the cryptic warning._

_The return of the demon who feasted on the innocent. _

_At first, he had taken it literally, and fought vehemently for Vector to reside in his kingdom where he knew he could guard the boy as he did with his sister. Now he understood. The demon born from unbearable anguish, fueled by chaos, but defeated by love._

_So he let that sword pierce his abdomen, his dying gasps breaking the hex that sealed away Vector's sanity._

A broken bellow drew him out of the tragedy from which he was immersed. Yuuma flung himself unto the winged creature, partaking in his sorrow, painting the gray canvas beneath him with chaste kisses until his cries simmered.

Yuuma. His Yuuma was comforting him. Willingly. Even after all he had been told. Even after he knew what kind of monster he was.

What the hell was wrong with him?!

Unbidden fury sparked in his eyes, set ablaze every ruthless move he made to shove the boy off of him and face first into the mattress and pinned him.

"Merag despised me for what I did. I despise me! What the hell is the matter with you?! How can you stand being near me?!"

"It... It wasn't your -"

"- 'wasn't'? No. I wasn't the traitor who stabbed his brother in the stomach? The liar who pledged peace and spread violence?!"

"You were being controlled!"

"It means nothing. I still had the element of choice, and I _chose _to give in rather than fight it." He sighed and released the boy and assisted him up, angling Yuuma to face him before briefly massaging his sore arm.

How Yuuma longed to see his visage! The one that matched the voice of the angel he had always known. How he wished to end the torment that plagued his soul for so long. To let him know that Yuuma would not abandon him, despite his lies, despite his malicious attempts to incur Yuuma's wrath through his cruel mockery and assaults. That Yuuma believed in his good, and accepted his bad.

"For her to turn you into a demon, though -" A bark of coarse laughter quieted him.

"You misunderstand. This -" he gestured at his body, despite knowing that Yuuma could not see him "- isn't Merag's doing. It's my father's. He had sold the soul of his own son to the god who was legend to spread chaos and madness. The god's name is Don Thousand. I don't know the specifics, but I suppose it went something along the lines of great loss and devastation and whatnot will bring about the change.

"When Nasch let me slay him, instead of doing the smart thing and killing me, he sealed my fate rather than saved me. I... I don't remember what happened afterward."

**But I do remember what Merag did.**

_The light in his eyes returned, black slits engulfed in a sea of blood fading to baffled purple. Vector wished to gouge them out once he beheld that white dress drenched in red, and dying, angry eyes boring into his own._

"_Merag... Merag!"_

"_I won't forgive you, Vector," she spat. "Not now, not ever. I wanted to at least look at you – and not some devil – when I spite you."_

**Can't say I blame her.**

"She saved me, and damned me, at the same time. It's both a complicated and simple situation, really. So now what will you do, Yuuma-kun? Now that I've told you the 'truth', what will you -"

"- I won't leave you." Always talented at leaving the other speechless. "No matter what you've done, I won't abandon you. Not because I can't, or not because I feel indebted to you for saving me, or any nonsense like that! You've always been there for me, and helped me. And no matter what you did before, I'll still believe in you!"

"... What if I turn on you? Will you believe in me then?"

"If that time ever comes, we'll cross that bridge. You said it yourself. You never told me you were nice."

Hearing the same words he had spoken to Yuuma on multiple occasions dished right back at him drew a genuine laugh from him.

"I've always loved you. Yet, every time you surprise me, and when I think I couldn't possibly love you more, I..."

"I love you too. From the bottom of my heart."

Shingetsu... Vector... He had watched over Yuuma from childhood, guided him, protected him. He had opened his heart to Yuuma, had given Yuuma so much power over him that he even allowed him the privilege of naming him. He had killed for Yuuma. All for Yuuma. Perhaps some would call this love between them immoral or twisted or insane. Perhaps complex or pure or consuming.

None of those could fit as well as _**right**_.

He led the blind boy through the winding maze of hallways, into the sunny courtyard, through the vibrant garden, ambling until they reached the forest's edge, where Vector instructed him to sit.

And he let himself cry.

Cried apologies to Nasch, to Merag. Allowed himself to mourn in a way he never had before, taking absolute solace in every gentle touch and soothing whisper and soft kiss that Yuuma gave, the boy becoming his much needed buttress. He dared not ask for forgiveness, though, knowing that it would never be his.

Reconciliation was a gift, not a right.

Once he had worn himself out, and laid down, arms stretched wide and eyes locked on the bright heavens above, Vector felt a freedom that he never had in his life. His harrowing, unending life. A freedom that flowed as the untamed winds, encompassed his own, undulating energies, heightened when Yuuma pressed his lips to his centerpiece, then his neck, then his face.

Deliberate movements that united them, closer and closer until the golden relic brushed against his chest. One, little touch that had awakened thousands, millions of sensations before, but never had a brilliant, emerald aura emit from it. One so striking that it vanquished the perpetual darkness that blinded Yuuma, in the nick of time, at that. For without his vision, Yuuma would not have been able to behold a transformation all the more magnificent. Gray, leathery skin that became pale and supple in his grasp; wings that retracted into his body and left his bare back smooth; gray hair that lightened to orange; the defining of a countenance befitting a prince, befitting a king.

What captivated Yuuma most were those elegant lips, slim and delicate and more inviting than he had ever imagined. A little dry, they were, but Yuuma knew exactly how to fix that.

**~ OoO ~**

There was no way to acclimatize to a transformation of that magnitude. Not after having spent so many years trapped in his monstrous form, nor after knowing him solely by that body. A surreal ecstasy was born from this saving grace, though.

There was neither a suitable explanation for why the change occurred so suddenly until those powers were put on trial once again.

A frail blue butterfly had fluttered to the garden floor, frantically flapping, desperately praying for its broken wing to mend so that it could taste the euphoria of flight once more. Vector had suggested putting it out of its misery, but Yuuma stopped him and carefully cradled the helpless creature. He held it to his chest, and the Emperor's Key responded accordingly.

Whatever had reawakened its ancient powers (perhaps Merag's holy strength), they placed themselves at Yuuma's command.

Upon readjusting to his human form, Vector decided that perhaps it was time to put the past aside, and look towards the future. The curse that once chained him had been lifted, and while he would always be burdened by guilt, he favored following Yuuma's _**Kattobingu**_. Rather than letting it swallow him, he could keep moving forward, learn from his mistakes, rise to any challenge. With his trusted partner at his side, there was not an obstacle that was immovable.

His decision to leave his homeland, however, was unanticipated, but not unwelcome. Of course there would be aspects of this lifestyle that Yuuma would sorely missed, but the itch for adventure was in his blood, an inescapable want. Besides, it was not like they would never return to this place. The garden, the palace, everything within and surrounding was their blissful paradise. If not forever, until they passed on to the next life.

Before they would begin their lives anew (_"Shingetsu Rei?" _

"_New beginnings, Yuuma-kun. So, new name. Besides, Vector was 'dorky' anyway." _

"_True, true. Hm..." _

"_What's wrong?"_

"_Then what should I go by?"_

"_Yuuma. You're name is fine the way it is."_

"_Kazuma."_

"_What?"_

"_Kazuma Yuuma. I'll go by that."_) Yuuma had one thing he would like to do with his new found power.

**~ OoO ~**

Haruto's ailment was worsening with each passing day. Bed rest was the best he could do now, caring for him despite obvious signs of his diminishing health, despite the dreadful hopelessness he felt when his baby brother had forgotten his name (even his own name), and when he saw Haruto's legs give way and never worked properly again.

The end would come, he knew that much, and he was fully prepared to follow his Haruto into the afterlife.

There were nights, though, that he would permit himself the vulnerability of lamenting, of praying for a miracle that would spare them both this horrendous pain. None ever came, though, and he felt childish to think that one ever would. Still, when he whispered soothing words to Haruto, somewhere in his heart of hearts, he knew he believed them too, and he would keep believing until the day came for him to discard this faint hope.

Kaito did not know when he had fallen asleep. He knelt at his brother's bedside, stroking and kissing his hand and repeating small encouragements to his frightened brother. A musical laughter was what he awakened to, a sound so beautiful, one he had not heard in years. Soft, livid eyes opened, and was met with the sight of his little brother happily twirling around and skipping, sporting that wide, precious smile that he never thought he would see again.

Once the little one realized that his older brother was awake, he giggled and chirped, "Nii-san! Watch what I can do!"

* * *

**The End.**

* * *

**©Kitty Seeboo**


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